


A Thousand Pounds of Wildfire

by landsmanwashere (pancake_potch)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bonnie and Clyde dynamics, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Falling In Love, First Time, Underage - Freeform, heist-ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2019-10-03 20:42:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 68,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17291063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pancake_potch/pseuds/landsmanwashere
Summary: Two people who appear very different come together for a specific purpose, only to find they aren't so different after all.OrJaime and Arya build a bomb.





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> I posted the unedited version of this previously on accident, so here is the actual edited one. Based of the Atavist article "Worth a Thousands Pounds of Dynamite."
> 
> I don't think J/A is all the big of a ship, but once I found it, man...I couldn't help myself.

 

It’s no ordinary bomb. There are no visible sticks of red dynamite wrapped in tape with a stopwatch _tick-tick-ticking_ down. There are no exposed wires, stiffly waiting to be snipped. It certainly wasn’t an amateurish attempt by some conspiracy theorist in his basement with walkie-talkies and duct tape.

 

It was more than that. It was fucking brilliant.

 

And now it sits, at 4:30 am, outside the fourth floor corridors outside The Golden Lion’s counting room. There’s a single note perched on top of the device, left behind by one of the two faceless men in coveralls that wheeled it in.

 

_Leave 10 million by midnight at the coordinates given by phone. The bomb has 8 separate electromagnetic fusing methods. Any attempt to flood, disable, or drill will result in completing a circuit. Inside is a thousand pounds of wildfire. Any deviation from the plan will result in complete destruction of The Golden Lion, and it’s surrounding buildings._

 

 

* * *

It’s starts at the end of a trial.

The glossy wooden benches are too hard to ever be comfortable, as Jaime slouches, then rights himself. He leans forward, balancing his elbows on his thighs and sighs deeply into his hands.

It’s late afternoon, and most have cleared out of the courthouse, minus a few young interns, heads held high- arms encasing stacks of manila folders- their brisk clip down the marbled floors giving them a sense of importance.

Jaime drops his hands and jingles the watch on his wrist. He should leave. He did what he came to do, and now…now it was just wait and see. He wasn’t even sure what the fuck he was doing here anyway. The right people had been paid off, thanks to his sister and her dumb, fat, fuck of a husband.

Somewhere to his right he hears the squeal of hinges and a faint tap of footsteps.

“He’s going to get away with it. He’s getting away with killing Mycah, and no one is doing anything about it.”

A girl’s voice is coming from around the corner, although even if he weren’t so close, the stone hall and floors guarantee amplification of even the smallest noises. Perhaps that’s the point. There’s nowhere to hide in a place like this.

Another voice is heard- a man’s but it’s the practiced murmur of a lawyer. Low, deep. Jaime can’t hear what he’s saying, and almost gets up to listen better. It’s his nephew they’re talking about.

“ _I don’t care_ ,” the girl says now, alleviating Jaime’s need to get up. “I don’t _care_ about _any_ of that. This is bullshit, and _you know it_. _Let go of me_ -“ The speaker turns the corner and Jaime sees it’s Arya Stark.

He blinks, and for a moment he’s can’t stop staring at her as she’s walking down the hall towards him, free of whomever she was speaking to before. He hadn’t seen her since she was a dirty, vile little child with a vocabulary of a drunken sailor -which scandalized Cersei to no end- back in the days when Lannister, Baratheon, and Stark families would gather for holiday meals and small vacations.

What he sees now is a young woman in a black skirt and blazer – and Converse sneakers. He frowns at her courtroom attire. As a daughter of a Stark, he presumed they could afford clothing for their overly large brood, but then he remembers she had always had that street urchin way about her.

He’s watching as she comes closer and closer to where he’s sitting, and maybe it’s because he expects she’ll say something to him. Instead, with her face steadfastly fixed at some point ahead of her, she doesn’t see him. She’s still small, Jaime thinks. Her hair is in a ponytail and small wisps of hair frame her face. For a moment, he can’t breathe. He blinks, and he’s caught up in how beautiful she’d become. Even with that angry look on her face, she is the spitting image of her Aunt Lyanna. She passes him, and he’s still watching her as she flings open the door to the staircase.

 

* * *

They gather outside the doors when things end for the day. He stands in the background, hands in pockets. His nephew looks smug, one arm casually draped around his fiancé (Jesus, who would agree to marry him) and talking to Cersei. Cersei smiles and goes to cup her son’s face, but he brushes her off. Robert is looking at his cell phone as Tommen pulls at his jacket sleeve. Here he is, gathered with his family celebrating a complete and total miscarriage of justice.

Jaime knows- _he knows-_ that Joffrey is responsible for the boy’s death. Some poor fucking kid who managed a scholarship to a university and decided to pledge at a fraternity where his nephew was held in some unearned high regard-

And suddenly he’s angry. Joffrey committed, if not murder, then manslaughter, and the little prick is going to get away with it.

He looks over his shoulder at the door to the staircase, and decides to slink out unnoticed.

It’s three floors down and past the metal detectors before he makes it outside. It’s overcast and gray. He stands outside and breathes in, taking in the city scene around him. Traffic is starting to gather at all the bottlenecks, and he wonders how long it will take to get home at this hour. Or anywhere, far, far away from his family and the courthouse with its corrupt and rusted inner workings.

It shouldn’t bother him, but it does. This is how life works, and he’s known that. The right name, the right smile, the right amount of zeros transferred to untraceable bank accounts, the right secrets…

Jaime turns the corner towards the direction of the parking structure and a whiff of cigarette smoke wafts towards him. There, leaning against the building is Arya Stark. One arm is wrapped around her middle, while the other flicks at a cigarette she doesn’t even seem to be smoking.

_He thinks of her aunt, dead long before she was born. Of long dark hair and uniform Oxford unbuttoned, showing a worn band t-shirt underneath. Lyanna smoking, laughing as she leaned against a bike rack._

 

Twenty years later he sees Lyanna reborn.

 

There’s a crack running up against the stone of the courthouse wall she’s leaning against, and he watches as she wipes her nose with the back of her hand. Coming closer to her, in this daylight, Jaime sees the scuffmarks on her shoes and a bruise on one knee. Of course she isn’t wearing nylons.

He stands in front of her now, unsure of what to say, if anything at all. He doesn’t really know the motivation behind his attempt to speak to her. Maybe he just wants to see her up close. He’s only a couple of feet in front of her, but she doesn’t seem to know he’s there. He opens his mouth to say something, when the thought occurs to him that there may be other Starks lurking about, because they seem to multiply by the dozens, popping out of the woodwork.

But, there’s no one around aside from the steady stream of downtown pedestrians, none of them particularly _Stark_ looking.

“Can I have a cigarette?” It comes out of his mouth casually, and he watches as she (still not looking at him) digs through her purse. It annoys him. People have always taken notice of him in some way, for good or for bad reasons, yet this particular dismissal strikes him in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time.

Pulling one out he absently reaches for it. He can see her glimpse at his Berluti Oxfords and whip her head up to face him, cigarette extended.

 

* * *

There’s a moment when she looks at the man in front of her- a beat- before she recognizes who it is. The expensive shoes and perfectly tailored suit, the way he’s put together in an understated, yet decidedly wealthy way.

All the rage she’s kept buried the best of her ability is now threatening to escape unhindered on this sidewalk. The words she bit back in the courtroom – the fucking _farce of a trial_ \- ready for the slightest provocation.

“Fuck you.” Is all she manages to spit out, throwing the offered cigarette loose in her purse. She only gets a few steps away before a hand grabs her upper arm and whips her around.

“Wait-“

“Don’t touch me, Lannister.” Arya demands, now a ball of fury. It’s justifiable fury, of course. She’d begged her father to do something, and he had, but it wasn’t enough. I can’t control what Robert does, Arya, he’d said. It isn’t fair, he agreed, but _you_ can control your actions, since you can’t control others around you. _You_ make _your_ world built with honor and fairness.

She looks him in the eye, and sees the typical Lannister green. His eyes aren’t still and dart around her face, as if he’s looking for something she can’t quite guess. It’s disarming, in all honesty, and locks her in place momentarily.

“I want- to help.” Is what Jaime says, and it comes out stilted, like that’s not what he meant to say at all. Someone running for a bus bumps into her-before she can tell Jaime to fuck off-and nearly knocks her into the street. The solid hand around her arms grasps harder and yanks her back.

The movement startles her, and she blinks, realizing she’s physically closer to Jaime Lannister than she had ever been in her whole life. He’s so tall that she barely comes up to his chest. She stares at a button on his overcoat.

“Please, let me. I just-” Arya looks up to find him staring down at her. He’s looking at her again like something he’s been searching for forever, and has just found- only to question the permanence of it. And suddenly, she feels a sting in her eyes and uses her free hand to quickly wipe away the beginning of tears.

She slumps. It’s just been so fucking lonely. Arya feels fucking _lonely_ in that it seems to be her – and _only her_ \- that’s been carrying the weight around of her friend’s death. _Nobody seemed to give a shit._ All that righteous anger that’s been fueling her for months now switches to exhaustion.

 

* * *

Jaime offers her a ride home. He can see her hesitate, and very nearly rolls his eyes. “Listen, just let me take you home. I assure you, it’s better than cramming on the bus with the unwashed masses.”

Arya flinches. “I don’t care about that.”

Jaime sighs, “Of course you don’t.” But, she lets him lead her to the garage.

He unlocks the car and opens the passenger side. Arya’s standing there, glaring at him as he holds it open, waiting for her to get in so he can shut the door. Jaime takes a deep breath and waves her in, but she’s not moving an inch.

This time he does roll his eyes as he mutters, “suit yourself.” He leaves the door hanging open, and slides into the driver’s side. A moment passes, and he thinks she’s not going to get in. He understands her reticence to be around him. Him and his family aren’t particularly _good_ people, but Jaime has never done anything personally to Arya.

When he goes to start the car, she slides in almost soundlessly, and it surprises him. He clears his throat and makes his way into the street.

They inch through traffic. Jaime glances at Arya, whose purse is placed primly at her feet, eyes staring stonily ahead. It’s uncomfortable for both of them he knows. He has no idea what possessed him to offer her help, particularly when he isn’t even sure _how_. It just stumbled out of his mouth unbidden, and he hadn’t done anything to take the words back. Once they were out of his mouth, he blindly plunged forward, insisting Arya accept.

“I do, you know. Want to help.”

Arya scoffs. “The Lannisters have _helped_ more than enough.”

“Not _this_ Lannister,” he says blandly.

“Really? So, I suppose you can _un-pay_ the prosecuting attorney, then? Perhaps admit what your shit family did to silence the press? Don’t think I didn’t notice there weren’t reporters outside. _None_. At all.”

“It wasn’t _me_ , you know. I wasn’t even in the country when that happened,“ he answers in an attempt to disengage himself with his sister and his horrible nephew. Almost his entire life he didn’t care what people thought of him (except his father, the bastard) but he _needs_ Arya to know he wasn’t involved in any of this. He never felt the need to justify himself to anyone, yet this teenaged girl managed to do just that.

He doesn’t like it.

There’s movement next to him as she reaches for her purse and fumbles through it on her lap. Arya pulls out a cigarette and lights it.

“Oh for fuck’s sa- at least roll down the window if you’re going to do that,” he gripes. “And give me one too.” A cigarette is offered in his peripheral, and he slips it between his lips. Leaning towards her, he motions for a lighter, keeping his eyes on the road ahead.

There’s the flick of the lighter and Jaime inhales, unrolling his window in the process. Fuck, he’s missed this. It’s been two years since he quit, and now he doesn’t understand why.

Arya leans back and lazily takes a drag off of her cigarette. She rolls her head towards him. “Do you know what Joffrey did? To my sister?”

Jaime chances a look at her, and he’s too distracted by her grey eyes to answer. How stunning, he thinks. He’s unnerved by that brief thought and peels his eyes away from her to properly watch where he’s going.

“No. I think I was somewhat aware they dated, right? “ Jaime shuffles in his seat, suddenly very, very sure he doesn’t want to know what Joffrey has done. There’s dread worming its way through his limbs, and his mouth has gone dry.

Arya gives a small laugh, hollow and angry. “I told myself the next time I saw him, I was going to kill him.”

“Is that right?” He asks idly, as if he hears it all the time.

“You don’t believe me?”

“I don’t know you enough one way or the other. Though, it can’t be denied that perhaps a good solid beating may curb his behavior.”

Arya scoffs at him and smokes.

They make their way out of traffic, and are now on the curved back roads of the city’s North Hills. It’s still forested here, old stately homes surrounded by trees older than the original settlers of the city.

Once he stops outside the gates of her house, she slips out without a word. It’s not the lack of simple manners here, it’s that he doesn’t like getting blown off. As she turns around to slam the door behind her, Jaime calls out, “Wait-“

Arya’s movements are arrested in motion, and she bends down to frown at him.

“Can I- have your phone number or something?”

To that, her frown deepens. “You some sort of pervert?”

“ _What? No._ Aren’t you like, twelve?” It’s his turn to be affronted, maybe because her beauty _was_ one of the first things he’d noticed about her, but that was just an _observation._

“I’m _sixteen_ , and why?”

Jaime heaves a large breath, and looks earnestly at her. Lowering his voice he answers, “Because I said I wanted to help. With Joff, with the trial, I don’t really know…but I meant it.”

The look Arya gives him softens just so, but not enough to think he’s won her over in any way. She looks over her shoulder at her house, then turns to her purse. Fishing around she finds a notebook and an old stubby pencil. Jotting it down she flings it onto the seat. “There. Now leave. It’s weird that you’re here.”

With a flip of her ponytail, she’s gone.

 

* * *

It’s been six weeks since he’d dropped Arya at her house, and only three since he’d seen her again at Robert Baratheon’s funeral. She was dressed in black again, but this time she looked a little more put together, no Converse on her feet. Her hair was down, he recalled. It was blowing in her face as she stood solemnly near her father.

Why he was so fixated on her that day, he couldn’t quite say. His sister- the rest of his family stood there-showing the proper signs of mourning. Cersei with her quiet dignified tears, emphasized with a delicate pat of a handkerchief for effect every now and then.

He was so bewitched by this slip of a girl, he hadn’t noticed that everyone began wandering away. He kept his eyes on her, willing her to look at him, but she didn’t. Not once. He watched her turn around, grab ahold of one of her brothers, and walk away.

There was a sharp tug on his sleeve, and he let loose the breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“ _Jaime_.” Cersei was eyeing him coolly, and he let himself be pulled away.

 

* * *

Jaime keeps the paper with her phone number tucked carefully away in his wallet. Sometimes he forgets it’s there. Other times, when he pulls it out to toss bills onto a bar or at a valet, he spies it and carefully tucks it back into place again.

He doesn’t have the courage to call her. Honestly, he has no reason to. Joffrey got off, which was no surprise, but it still felt shameful. Even though both Jaime and Arya knew full well the outcome of the trial, it didn’t sting any less when he thought about her.

He _can’t_ help her. Doesn’t _know_ the ways Arya needs help, if she actually does. The one thing that brought them together (however briefly) was over, and there was no way to fix it.

Jaime mulls it over in bed, feeling corny and stupid. There was no justifiable reason to reach out to her, but he wants to. He’s drawn to her in a nebulous way that defies definition.

Maybe it’s just that she hates his family just as much as he does.

 

* * *

They sit in Petyr Baelish’s office on the third floor of an old, historical brick building. Jaime doesn’t want to be here, but Tyrion gives him a look- the _Honestly, Jaime_ look- and so he followed his brother into the elevator with its goddamn elevator _attendant_ pulling a switch like they were in some old black and white film.

Jaime sits and watches as Tyrion flirts with the receptionist, and nearly bolts out of his seat when she says they can enter. Tyrion has always had a smooth demeanor when it came to the fairer sex, and it makes him mildly uncomfortable. Tyrion could do with words what Jaime could do by just _being_ who he was, but that took no skill at all. Nor had it lead him to any particular success.

Now they sit on one side of a massive oak desk, Baelish on the other. Tyrion had asked why Baelish didn’t do business in of the newer, sleeker, technologically advanced high rises, and Baelish just smiled. “Staying true to my roots. Humble,” he’d said. The $4000 Chopard watch on his wrist said otherwise.

“So, gentlemen. Shall we?”                                                                                                 

“I should hope so. I didn’t roll out of bed this early to exchange pleasantries.” Tyrion says.

Baelish gives a small smile, and begins to flip through paper. “To begin, Tywin’s estate is still tied up, as it was earlier. Aside from the allowance already given to his three children, the bulk still remains frozen.” Baelish looks up and gives a little sheepish shrug, as if to say _what can you do_? “However, sources have told me that perhaps the Fed may not be as fanatical in pursuance of the tax evasion charges as of late.”

Tyrion raises an eyebrow. “So?”

“So, it may wrap up sooner than we think, with all assets in tact. Although, I cannot guess as to when this may occur.” Baelish sets down the papers with a soft thud, and leans back in his chair, fingers steepled under his chin.

Jaime doesn’t like Petyr Baelish, and doesn’t want to be here. He can’t guess as to why this information couldn’t be shared over the phone. But he notices Baelish looks thoughtful, maybe pleased with himself. There’s another reason why they’ve come down here, and as soon as Tyrion clears his throat, he knows Tyrion suspects as much.

“That’s all very intriguing, Baelish. But nothing we didn’t already know.”

Baelish swivels back and forth in his chair. “You’re right, as ever.” He pauses, and gives the brothers a thoughtful look. “There is something else. The poor Baratheon widow has financial woes of her own. For a family as close-knit as yours? Consider me surprised that Cersei hasn’t told you.”

“ _Cersei_ ,” Jaime starts, “What on earth are you talking about? None of us are exactly close these days, so would you be so kind as to explain?”

Smiling, Baelish pulls out a folder and straightens it out on his desk. “Apparently, our dear, departed Robert left the entirety of his wealth to his eldest son Joffrey.” He announces, with little to-do.

Tyrion leans forward. “Wait, are you-“

“-Nothing at all left to either of Robert’s brothers, nor his wife…nor his two other children.” Baelish finishes.

“That buffoon left everything- _everything-_ to _Joffrey_?” Tyrion says in disbelief. Even Jaime has a hard time comprehending what that could mean for his sister and her children. Robert was mean, drunk, thoughtless, careless, but stupid?

“From what your sister says, she is attempting to dole out the money evenly among his siblings –and herself- however, it’s proving to be very difficult. Seems our young Joffrey already has plans for his father’s money.” Petyr Baelish enjoys sitting on important information, sifting it out when deemed necessary.

“Care to inform us of our nephew’s _brilliant_ plans?” Jaime asks tiredly. Of course, of fucking course, Joff would do something stupid.

“A casino. Ten stories in Atlantic City.” Baelish says, enjoying every word. “Apparently to be named _The Golden Lion.”_

Before Jaime or Tyrion can react, the intercom on Baelish’s desk chimes. “Miss Stark on line 1, sir.”

Baelish stands up, and there’s a flash in his eyes. “Good day, gentlemen,” he says dismissing them.

Tyrion gets out of the chair, and Jaime means to follow, but _Miss Stark_? Why would _Arya_ call Petyr Baelish? Wait, there was her older sister Sansa. Maybe the receptionist meant _Missus_ Stark, their mother. For a brief maddening second, he wants to demand which _Stark_ it is.

Instead he follows Tyrion out.                    

 

“Can you believe the little shit? Why _Atlantic City_ , of all places? Not Vegas? _Reno_ even may have made more sense.” Tyrion stops and shakes his head. “Atlantic City is just so tacky and pedestrian, for God’s sake.”

“And Las Vegas isn’t?” Jaime counters.

Tyrion looks at his brother in disbelief. “That shiny oasis in that godforsaken desert? Please, Jaime. Vegas is the epitome of lavish excess and _decadence_. Combine that with alcohol and women…” he trails off there, leaving the implication.

The half smile Jaime wears slowly fades. “We have to do something, Tyrion.”

Tyrion sighs, “Yes, well. What Robert was thinking, I can’t even begin to imagine. Leaving the boy the entire fortune. Joffrey’s going to lose it, you know. All of it. Who invests in _casinos_ this day in age, let alone _build one_.”

Someone needs to stop him, Jaime thinks.

He offers Tyrion a ride, and Tyrion waves him off. “Getting an Uber. Since I’m up so early, might as well go into work. And the happy hour at the Crossroads after. There is this absolutely _delectable_ waitress-“

“What did Joffrey do to Sansa Stark?” Jaime quietly interrupts. Tyrion grimaces and stares at his brother. He can feel Tyrion’s stare, but doesn’t have the courage to look at him.

“Why are asking? I mean, I thought you knew.”

Jaime shrugs and sets his gaze in front of him, ignoring the ever-present noise and clamor of the city around him.

Tyrion sighs. “He hit her. A lot. Oh, never where anyone could _see_ , of course.” There’s a pause, and for a moment, Jaime thinks that may be all had to say- that was certainly enough. But he continues, hesitantly. “There was, it might have been two years ago now, that Sansa went with Cersei and the children to that lake house. Apparently, a week after they arrived, the housekeeper found Sansa bleeding on the terrace outside. She was pregnant, and Joffrey beat the child out of her.“

That earned a sharp look at Tyrion, whose eyes conveyed sadness…maybe even acceptance. “Why didn’t…did Cersei know?” Jaime demanded. No wonder Arya wanted to murder that little cocksucker. The extent of Joffrey’s evil extended not just to innocent college boys, but helpless women and unborn children too.

 

* * *

Arya searches through her father’s Rolodex. Once she finds what she’s looking for she sneaks off back up to her room, paper secured tightly in her hand.

She sits on the bed, thinking about him. It’s weird. Once she decided, with absolute certainty that she was going to murder Joffrey Baratheon, the first thing she had wanted to do was tell Jaime.

 

* * *

Jaime wakes up with nothing to do. The one good thing about wealth, is that you could do whatever you liked with your time. At least, that’s how his life was. Once he had fulfilled his obligation to the military, he’d come back home with no other prospect than to do what he liked.

Now however, the lack of any responsibility at all gave way for his thoughts to dance around without distraction.

_“She’s a whore.” Cersei stomped in the parking lot. “I cannot believe those…those…worthless assholes in there voted for her. And him. Apparently, Rhaegar has decided to slum it.”_

_It’s Homecoming 1997, and Jaime watched as his sister screeched in her red dress and heels outside the gymnasium doors, where their classmates were congratulating the new King and Queen._

_“I’d hardly call Lyanna Stark slumming it, and Rhaegar was never yours anyway.” Jaime countered, although he knows it the completely the wrong thing to say to her._

He’s broken away from his thoughts by the vibrating of his phone. Picking it up, he recognizes the number, despite it coming through with no name.

“Yes.”

“Jaime Lannister?” It’s Arya, and for a moment he’s too taken aback to say anything. He hadn’t heard her voice since he dropped her off that day. For a second he wonders if thinking of her aunt somehow conjured up the call.

“Arya Stark.”

“I’ve decided to do you a kindness.”

“Thinking of me, were you?” His heart beats just a little faster.

“Yes. I was thinking that when I murder your nephew, I wanted you to know that it was me who did it.”

“You’re right,” Jaime agrees, “that _is_ kind of you. However, what makes you think I won’t go to the authorities? Surely, you don’t think I’d let you go around murdering my family, though I won’t deny there are at least a couple that deserve it.”

“You won’t.” It’s said so simply, Jaime almost doesn’t question it.

“ _Really?”_

“Really. You know it needs to be done. Goodbye Lannister.”

With that, she hangs up, leaving Jaime staring at the screen. All his thoughts rush around this girl. He doesn’t doubt her sincerity, but does question her ability to do so. He frowns and stares out the penthouse window.

 

* * *

Arya feels better than she’s had in weeks. She is still mired in loneliness, but its _good_. She closes her eyes, and inhales deeply. It centers her to have a goal. Something she can actually do. She doesn’t know the _hows_ or _whens_ yet, but she’ll get there.

As to why she told that tosspot’s uncle, it was simply because she wanted someone to know it was her and maybe it was because she could just tell that they were the same in some fundamental way. Jaime Lannister knows, probably better than her, how bad Joffrey is, and since he can’t (or won’t) do anything she will have to. She’s doing not only him a favor, but everybody else one too.

The bell rings, signaling the end of the day. Gathering her things, there’s a spring in her step. Stepping out front, she leans on the end of the narrow bars of the bike rack not occupied by student bikes, and readjusts the books in her bag.

“Hey.”

She looks up to see Hot Pie walking towards her amidst the flow of students leaving for the day. His tie is already halfway undone. Arya drops her bag to her feet to better shove the books into some sort of order, mashing loose papers to the bottom as she does so. Hot Pie leans against the rack and slips off his uniform jacket. Mimicking her movements, he shoves his jacket into his own bag.

“You ready?” Hot Pie asks as he hoists his bag up to his shoulder.

“I’m walking today. Got a lot to think about.” Arya answers with a half smile, hoping to seem friendly enough for the moment, but brusque enough that he won’t question why she won’t be taking the bus with him today.

Hot Pie looks at her in disbelief. “It’s so far. Like… _two miles.”_

Arya shakes her head, “I’ll be fine. See you tomorrow.” She takes her leave then, shouldering her bag and walking down the path. Once she hits the sidewalk, she looks both ways, waiting for after school traffic to clear before she can cross.

As she steps down the curb during a brief lull, her eyes find a man perched atop a motorcycle directly in front of her on the other side of the street. There’s something about the man that makes her catch herself. Her heart beats a little frantically, but there’s no reason to. Arya can’t see who the man is, since he’s wearing a helmet. There is something particularly noticeable about the way his body sits confidently astride- like someone who knows there place in the world and embraces it.

She has no other choice but to cross here, thus forcing her towards the man on the bike, so she does. As she gets crosses, she hopes traffic will stop for her if they come, because all her attention is focused on man. As soon as she’s close enough to the other side, the rider takes his helmet off.

Arya pauses and clenches her fists, “What are you doing here?”

Jaime sighs and looks at her. “Attempting to talk you out of doing something stupid. Get on.”

“What makes you think I’d do that? Why would I trust you?” She looks over her shoulder to the front of the school, relieved to still find students and a few staff lingering on the grounds.

“Look little Stark, nothing happened last time. The longer I sit here, by the way, the more likely it is that I’ll end up on an FBI watch list, so just get on.” Arya looks directly at him, trying to suss out his intentions. She hesitates because his eyes are so green- she’s never really seen anyone with such bright eyes before.

“I…” Arya’s voice cracks a little. She’s still unsure, but doesn’t want to show it in front of Jaime, doesn’t want to come across as weak or scared. She takes a deep breath. “This motorcycle is so _old_. Will it even hold me?”

“ _Old_?” Jaime repeats, completely baffled. “I’ll have you know this is a 1954 Vincent 998cc White Shadow Series-C-“

‘-Old,” Arya interrupts, small smile on her face, “so, it’s old like you.”

Jaime rolls his eyes. “It’s a _classic_ ,” he says while thrusting the helmet he was wearing at her, “and I’m not _old_.”

She takes the helmet, moving to put it on when she stops. “Where are we going?”

“Taking a ride, then we’ll find somewhere to talk. Don’t worry; I’m not going to…hurt you, or anything. I’m just trying to…keep you out of prison.”

Their eyes meet, and it renders them both still. They stay like that for the briefest of moments until Jaime clears his throat and Arya bites her lip. She tries to ignore the hot, heavy feeling in her stomach as she clips the helmet on and climbs behind Jaime.

There’s a bit of scrambling on Arya’s part, there’s nowhere to place her hands, and they flutter behind her looking for somewhere to grab. She goes into a mild panic until Jaime’s hands snake out behind him and grab them. She tries to yank them back but he holds fast. When she doesn’t try it again he slowly places them around his middle gently, warmly.

She keeps her hands around him despite the heavy feeling that’s now traveled into her chest. When the bike starts, she scoots ever so closer to him and laces her fingers together.

 

* * *

Jaime never feels more like a dirty old man than at this moment. When he saw her approach him, he had to swallow the lump in his throat. She was just so fucking pretty. The whole schoolgirl thing wasn’t ever his preference, but the way Arya wore it was the perfect juxtaposition of innocence and darkness. He could feel the undercurrent of something…something dangerous but _righteous_.

She clings to him as they ride past the city limits, past the North Hills with its hilly evergreen backdrop into North Plains, which may have been plains at one time, but now where farms claim the land. It dawns on him how far they’ve really come, and decides to turn around. Finding a narrow farm road that will loop them back around towards town, he decides on where to take her.

At a particularly sharp turn, Jaime feels Arya clench her hands onto his jacket so hard, he can almost feel the scrape of her nails on his skin through all the fabric. He decides to ignore the rush of blood to his…well something that had nothing to do with the vibrations between his legs, but the girl’s hold on him. With all the grace he can manage he slowly reaches and squeezes her small fists in his hand.

 

They stop at a diner on the edge of town. It’s one of Jaime’s favorites, really. It borders the farms and the city, just hidden enough that only the outliers of the unseen demarcation lines come here. Old farmers and the occasional trucker that may happen to come this way are the only regulars.

His boot nudges the kickstand down and he can feel Arya slip off, slim leg dragging against him as she does.

Arya is looking up at the faded 7Up mural on the side of the building. “I like this place,” she says simply.

“I thought you might,” Jaime answers. “The food is mediocre and the coffee worse, but it’s quiet. Out of the way.”

Once they’re seated at a booth, Arya takes in the place. Jaime looks around too, and notices it hasn’t changed in the slightest in all his years of coming here. “I thought you’d eat at the kind of place Sansa likes,” Arya says. “The kind with a line out the door for brunch and artisanal beer, or whatever.”

“Well, I didn’t think _you_ did.” He answers, and she just lifts an eyebrow at him before pulling out a grimy, plastic covered menu from behind the napkin stand.

“So, you brought me here to talk me out of it, I take it?” Arya asks without looking up from the menu.

Jaime sighs and is about to answer when the waitress comes. He orders the shitty coffee and Arya orders fries and a Coke, and it occurs to him that their orders are physical manifestations of the difference in age between them.

“Yes. It is, actually.”

“I know. It’s either that or you’re trying to groom me.”

“ _Groom_ you?” He repeats confusedly but then smiles and cocks his head. “That’s not a bad idea.” He continues after clearing his throat, “Let’s start. Now, it takes a great deal to please a man of my status-don’t laugh-I only enjoy the finest bourbons and imported cigars from-you should actually write this down-“

Arya is still laughing, her nose crinkled, when she interrupts with “Gross.”

Jaime attempts to appear affronted by that but gives his own small laugh in return, without failing to notice the blush in her cheeks. Flushed Arya Stark is even more of a beauty to behold.

Fuck.

It’s suddenly dawns on him that he’s here alone on the edge of town with a sixteen year old girl he’s undeniably attracted to. A teenaged girl who openly admits to wanting to commit murder. _Murder_ , on one of his own blood. Jaime takes a deep breath, and stares at Arya as she’s looking out the window.

He finds he doesn’t care and for that he’s royally fucked.

“It doesn’t matter what you say,” Arya says quietly, turning away from the window. “It needs to be done.”

Jaime runs a hand over his face just as their orders arrive. He empties a sugar packet into his coffee. “So…you’re wielding the scales _and_ the sword?” He reaches for a spoon to stir the sugar, mostly giving himself something to do until she answers. When she doesn’t after a few moments, he drops his spoon and looks at her. Her large grey eyes convey burden. Burden, anger, and a quiet wisdom, maybe. Her whole being carries with it an innate sense of justice that isn’t just Ned Stark’s doing.

He recognizes it in her because it’s who he’s been trying to be all his life. And someone like her shouldn’t be locked away.

“Look Stark,” Jaime pushes aside the basket of fries placed between them and leans forward. He wants to take her small hands in his, but doesn’t dare. He settles for looking directly into those eyes. “You’re clever-smart, I know that. But think about it. No matter what you decide- gun, poison, garroting, a well placed push off a very tall bridge- you’ll leave evidence behind. And my sister will stop at nothing to find whoever did this to her precious little boy. She’ll dump every last dime into not just finding, but ensuring that whoever did this was locked away _for life_. Think about that. Do you think the noble Eddard and Catelyn Stark can compete? No, because they’ll rely on that virtuous thought that justice will out. But you and I know better, don’t we? It doesn’t matter that I think the world would be better off without Joffrey in it, because I know-“

“Then what? We just shrug it off?” Arya’s voice is rising along with her body out of her seat. “Play it off? ‘Oh boys will be boys’ is that right?” This time Jaime does place a hand on hers, just to keep her in place. “He killed my friend Mycah, he beat a baby out of my sister. But he can’t be touched, is that what you’re telling me?” She’s standing up fully now at the booth, and Jaime’s hand is the only thing anchoring her to it.

Jaime’s head darts around to see if anyone else sees. Satisfied no one appears to be paying attention, he quietly says, “No, I’m not saying he’s untouchable. Just sit down. Maybe there’s something else we can do.”

 

* * *

Arya gets off the bike, expecting Jaime to keep the motor running. They’re in front of her house, and she’s feeling wound up and anxious and a whole host of other emotions she can’t quite get a grip on. When the bike turns off she hands over the helmet with an expectant look.

She goes to say something to him, but the look on his face stops her. He’s just so handsome, it’s almost ridiculous. She blinks and hoists the strap of her bag up, and flinches when Jaime suddenly reaches for her. He’s fast enough to grab her by the blazer, and pulls gently, and Arya can’t help but be pulled the two steps so she’s directly in front of him.

She wants to demand what it is he think he’s doing, or that she can throw a punch, but none of that happens. The hand that’s pulled her releases her sleeve just to find its way to her face. A gentle cold hand softly caresses her cheek, and Arya feels as if her heart may will beat its way out of her chest. Jaime looks at her with a seriousness she hadn’t ever seen on him. His lips open, eyes searching her face, and for a second she thinks he may kiss her. Taking a shaky breath through parted lips, she wills herself to turn away, run away, to the safety of her room.

But she doesn’t move. She’s afraid to stay and afraid to leave. His thumbs brushes her cheekbone, and her eyes close at the touch, as if they have will of their own. When she opens them again, he’s still staring at her.

“Think about what I said, okay?” He’s speaking to her so quietly, she almost doesn’t catch his words. “You and I will think of something. Together.” Arya wants to argue, but doesn’t do anything but nod her head.

Jaime returns the gesture and drops his hand. The bike roars to life and Jaime’s head drops with what Arya thinks she sees as shame, before he places the helmet she’d worn on his own head. Without looking at her, Jaime pulls away and in a moment, he’s gone.

She’s still standing there with shaky legs and a wild heart until she hears her name called from behind. Turning, Sansa is in the driveway, textbooks clutched to her chest. “ _Was that Jaime Lannister_?”

 

 


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sibling reactions, booze, Thai food, and awkward flirting.

 

 

“ _Was that Jaime Lannister?”_

Arya opens her mouth, but immediately shuts it. Instead of answering, she tries to shoulder her way past Sansa. She doesn’t want to explain herself, because she doesn’t even think she can. Arya barely has a handle on the situation, and to bring it out to light, even to just Sansa, will magnify this bizarre circumstance that she willingly put herself in.

“Arya-“

She can hear Sansa follow her to the front doors, and she has a powerful urge to turn around and sweep Sansa’s legs out from under her, or something. Odd considering part of Arya’s whole plot is _because_ of her sister, but despite this, her reaction to Sansa’s prodding is to react with snide comments or the impulse to tear her precious red hair from her head.

She loves Sansa; she does obviously, but still.

Arya flings open the door and makes her way to the staircase, hoping to out run her sister. There’s no such luck, because she can hear her running up the stairs behind her. She gets to her bedroom and tosses her book bag on the floor before slamming the door behind her.

Well, tries to slam the door, but Sansa’s hand catches it. “What is wrong with you? And was it Jaime Lannister?” Arya grunts in frustration and flops down on her bed and kicks her shoes off and peels off her school blazer.

“Go away, Sansa.”

Sansa steps fully into Arya’s room and gently closes the door. Sansa looks as though she wants to join Arya on the bed, but thinks better of it, perching herself on a desk chair instead. The textbooks that had followed her up here land with a quiet thud on Arya’s desk.

Arya can’t summon the energy to shoo her sister out of her room, so she opts to shrug herself under the covers and face the wall instead.

“Please, Arya. What is going on? Did he hurt you?”   Sansa’s voice is laced with genuine concern, and that melts Arya’s ire just a little enough to answer.

“ _What?_ No. He wouldn’t hurt me, so stop worrying.” That’s one thing she’s very nearly sure of. Even in the small amount of time she’s spent with Jaime, she just _knows_ he would never hurt her.

“Not worry? You won’t answer me and you’re avoiding me like I’m covered in fire ants. Plus, you hate the Lannisters. Forgive me if I find it curious you’re riding on the back of the motorcycle with one.”

Arya sighs deeply into the depths of her bedding and closes her eyes. How can she explain what her and Jaime are to each other, when _she_ doesn’t even know. Acquaintances? Conspirators? Accomplices? Friends? There’s also something else growing inside her when it comes to him, but that’s not something she wants to put a name to. There’s an innate tug in her heart when she looks at him, or even just thinks about him.

“Will you please get out?”

“No, I’ll do no such thing.”

Arya heaves the covers off of her, and faces Sansa. “We’re not _doing_ anything.”

Sansa tilts her head, “Hm. Are you…are you dating?” The last word wavers. “Because he’s too old for you. Not to mention, he’s part of that horrible family.”

Sansa’s startled at Arya’s sudden movement as she bolts up. “Old? Really? That’s such shit coming from you. What would Mother say when she finds out you’re being ravished by some grey, old, wrinkly dick- _especially_ one Mother grew up with?”

Sansa visibly pales, and stammers, “How did you know…please don’t-”

“Who cares how I know. I just do. You realize Petyr Baelish is older than Jaime, anyway.”

Apparently recovered from the shock of her secret being discovered, Sansa answers with a prim tone. “I’m an adult, you’re not. I’m just looking out for you.” Arya rolls her eyes, as her sister softly makes her way to the bed, sitting down.

“There’s nothing going on between Jaime and I, and will you trust me that I’m looking out for you too?” It wasn’t a lie, not completely. Arya can tell Sansa wants to lean over and hug her, but knows better. “I won’t tell Mother or Father about your ancient boyfriend, okay? Just promise me you won’t say anything either.”

Sansa nods and breathes out, “Fine,” and stands to grab the books she brought up. She moves to leave but hesitates. “He is really handsome, you know. Jaime Lannister.” Sansa says through a small smile.

Arya huffs at her and buries herself under the covers once again.

 

* * *

The next morning, as Jaime looks at himself in the mirror, he wonders what the fuck he was thinking. Scratching at the stubble at his cheek, he chastises himself for pawing at Arya like an old perv at a Thai brothel. His impulsive action to just touch her, just once, had been eating away at him all night.

Jaime’s almost convinced that he’s so fixated on that one innocent gesture because it was inappropriate- she was sixteen, for fuck sake. He was older than her by twenty years.

But ultimately it wasn’t that at all. It was because Arya seemed to want it. When he looked at her, he could see she fought the urge to snap at him or push him away, but she didn’t. The way her lips trembled at his touch-when she closed her eyes and sighed… Jaime closes his eyes and leans forward on the bathroom counter and thinks how he almost kissed Arya Stark.

He’s mad at himself simply because now that he’s touched her-felt her soft ivory skin under his fingertips-he won’t be able to stop.

 

* * *

Debating whether or not to call Cersei, he prepares coffee. She hadn’t spoken to him since Robert’s funeral, which suited him just fine. Since coming home from his last deployment, things never seemed to settle between them. Cersei had shut him out, angry at his absence. At one time, he may have begged and pleaded with her-lay prostrate at her feet-for forgiveness. But after the third time overseas, fighting a war that wasn’t his… it had changed him. He waited for the pain to come, the feel of a broken heart, but it never came.

The sound of the coffee grinder doesn’t drone out his thoughts of Joffrey’s birth.

Seeing the small tufts of blond, downy hair, Jaime asked directly whether the child was his- but he was met with narrowed eyes and the declaration his name was Joffrey _Baratheon_ , son of _Robert Baratheon_.

Following the next two deployments, two more children were born, neither looking like Robert at all. Jaime didn’t bother asking those times, he had a pretty good idea who the children’s father was. He tried to get Cersei to at least let him try to get to know them, but she had declined, and under no circumstances was he ever to ask such a question again. So he had dutifully filled the role as Uncle Jaime, and that was that. There was never any confirmation, anyway.

If it was true then perhaps that was why Joffrey ended up the way he had. An abomination borne of incest. A monster that should have never been.

 

Jaime gets on the bike and thinks since he didn’t call her, he should at least check on Cersei. Confirm Joffrey’s plans, maybe. It’s what his father would have wanted-what duty would have him do-but he doesn’t.

He decides to drive to the coast an hour away. Maybe the salt-heavy air will clear his head. Introduce some reason into his foggy brain. Except the entire ride, all he thinks about is Arya Stark and her skin and her eyes and the dark hair that frames her face. Desperately, he attempts to summon thoughts about literally anyone or anything else-but it fails. Everything circles back to the youngest Stark girl.

A faint mist dots his visor as he guns his way out of town.

 

* * *

Jaime arrives home in the afternoon, just as the mist turns to rain. He had wanted to stay longer, sit and watch the waves, but even with the overcast sky, tourists were milling about. Being around people was the last thing he wanted at the moment.

He changes and thinks about dinner. It’s only late afternoon, and Tyrion is probably finished at work (if he had showed up at all) but that thought quickly evaporates. He doesn’t want to subject himself to Tyrion’s tales of women and wine.

There’s only one person he wants to see, but after the shit he pulled on her yesterday, it may be entirely too embarrassing.

A buzzing on the intercom jolts him into awareness.

“Myrcella Baratheon here to see you, Mr Lannister.”

Jaime frowns. Myrcella should be abroad at boarding school, as far as he knows. He pushes the button to reply to the front desk. “Yes. Fine.”

It takes a few minutes from the lobby to the top floor, and the whole time is spent wondering why Myrcella is here. His _niece_ and _nephews_ have never sought him out before.

There’s a knock and with a confused look, he answers the door. It’s not Myrcella he sees on the other side, but a dripping wet Arya Stark. It startles him, how he can think of her and she just appears.

“You’re not Myrcella.”

Arya sweeps the hood of her jacket off. “How could you tell?”

“How did- how do you know where I _live_?” The absolute moxie of this girl, Jaime thinks.

“Can I come in?” She asks, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “I’m dripping all over your hallway.”

Jaime opens up the door wider to let her inside, completely mystified, and watches as she drops her bag on the floor and unzips her jacket. He reaches out for it, and hangs it on a peg near the door.

Arya runs a hand over her damp hair and takes in her surroundings.

 

* * *

It takes all the courage she can muster to invite herself into Jaime Lannister’s apartment. Arya tries to convince herself it was only to prove that there were no _feelings_ towards him. Any feelings. At all. Whatsoever. This was just two people out to stop a future…Hitler, or something.

But the moment she sees him, it falls apart, the wall she tried to build around her heart. The careful reasoning and calm placement of each brick made of resolutions and denials crumble underneath his gaze. She is well fucked, she thinks, as she takes in the flecks of grey hair infiltrating his fashionable stubble and the temples of his blond hair.

Focusing on the apartment, it is exactly what she would picture. Modern, sleek, trendy. “Jesus. You’ve stepped out of a high-end men’s magazine, haven’t you?”

She smiles at his put-upon look. “I’ll have you know this was decorated by the best interior designer in this city,” Jaime says haughtily. “And how did you find out where I lived?”

Arya tosses her school blazer on the arm of a white, uncomfortable looking couch. “My father. I found it in his study.” Taking a seat on it, her suspicions are confirmed. The couch was more for looks than function. Typical.

Jaime is watching her intrude his space, and suddenly she feels foolish. Biting her lip, she looks up at him. “Is it…is it okay that I’m here?”

“I…” He sounds unsure and makes his way to a matching armchair. “I..Yeah, it’s okay that you’re here.” He cocks his head and crosses one leg on the other. “So now that we’ve established how you got here, and that it’s fine that you are, we should move onto why.”

“Oh,um…” Arya shrugs. “I just wanted to see you, I guess.” As soon as the sentence is out of her mouth, she wishes to take them back. It was true, in the barest sense. She had just wanted to see him, but the way she had said it sounded mortifyingly pathetic. She wills herself to not blush, but the heat fills her cheeks and she studies the hem of her uniform skirt brushing her knees.

Arya hears Jaime shift around in his seat. Holding her breath, she dares to look at him. He’s leaning forward now, gaze steady on her, with the same look he had when he dropped her off. She releases her breath slowly.

A sensation makes its way from between her ribs and out of her chest. The pull Jaime has on her, feels stronger-hotter or heavier maybe. The few seconds they lock eyes amplifies this unexamined draw between them. And Arya, as young and inexperienced as she is, knows she isn’t the only one that can feel it.

They both drop each others gaze simultaneously as Arya blows a puff of air out of her cheeks and Jaime coughs. Looking vaguely uncomfortable, he gets up and makes his way to the bar set up near the kitchen.

Searching through bottles, Jaime finds one and holds it up for examination. “Enlighten me as to why you said you were my niece?”

“That? Covering my tracks. You never know.”

Jaime lifts an eyebrow and looks amused. “I see…wouldn’t want to get caught doing something we aren’t supposed to.” The innuendo isn’t lost on her, but she shakes her head, unimpressed.

“Have you thought of anything?”

Jaime pulls out a highball glass and pauses. “About… _that_? No. I haven’t.” He glances over at her. “I _was_ thinking of dinner though.”

Arya deflates a little. “Of course you were. The elderly tend to eat at four in the afternoon. Have to be in bed by six, right?” She huffs and grabs her blazer off the couch and stands up, intending to leave. He probably has a date, or a high-profile money-laundering meeting to go to.

“Arya. I was going to ask you to _join me_ ,” he says pouring liquor into the glass. He turns fully to her and motions for her to sit again. “And stop calling me old, will you? I’m _thirty-seven_. That’s hardly elderly.”

She tries to hide a smile, busying herself untucking her blouse and readjusting the V-neck sweater adorned with her school crest. “It’s still four in the afternoon.” Instead of sitting down, she wanders over to Jaime, eyeing the glass he’s holding. “Can I have a drink too?”

Jaime tsks at her. “You barge into my lavish penthouse, drip on my carpet, I’m buying you dinner, and now you want to drink my expensive scotch?”

She sidles up to him, inching her way closer, but not touching him. Smiling up at him, she lifts a shoulder. “Please?”

Jaime glares down at her. “Your sixteen.”

“Just one? I know how to drink. I have an older brother _and_ an older cousin.” She’s still smiling and lifts both eyebrows. It’s the same look she gives Jon or Robb when she wants something, and it almost always works. It’s not like she wanted to get drunk, or anything. It’s more like she wants to prove she can hold her own with him. That whatever this partnership really is will be on equal terms.

He can’t hide his exasperation as he grabs another glass and adds just a splash. A third of what he poured for himself. She takes it with overzealous graciousness. Walking back to the couch she asks over her shoulder, “So what’s for dinner?”

 

* * *

Jaime is scrolling through the food delivery app. “Won’t your parents want you home?” He joined her on the couch, where they both sit, drinks in hand. Arya likes being here with him, in this cold, expensive apartment.

“No. My father has been working non-stop since Robert died and my mother took my little brothers to visit my Aunt Lysa for a few days. Apparently Aunt Lysa drove herself to a tizzy of such magnitude, my mother has to take care of her.”

He barely glances up from his phone. “Tizzy? Lysa Tully? What a surprise,” he says sarcastically. “Chinese?”

“No. How about Lebanese?”

“No Lebanese. It reminds me too much of the food I ate when I was deployed.”

Arya hums. “Thai?”

He gives her an appreciative glance and orders.

 

* * *

There’s an hour wait for their dinner to arrive, and Jaime finds he doesn’t mind. Despite his initial shock at her sudden appearance and his earlier desire to hole himself up and ignore everyone, he had been overjoyed she had taken him up on the offer for dinner.

Honestly he’s thrilled to have her here in his space, his home. After the revelations he had had about her, the little moment they shared, he knows he’s not the only one here that recognizes an attraction.

Whether that’s a good or bad thing isn’t worth thinking about.

He watches her in his peripherals. She takes small measured sips out of the glass, and doesn’t grimace at all like he’d expected. Propping his arm up on the arm of the couch, he can’t help but ask, “So what drove Lysa to her conniption?”

Arya snickers into her glass. “They went to lunch, my mother, Lysa, and my Uncle Edmure not long ago-“ She launches into a fit of laughter. Jaime can’t help but smile at her, letting the sound of her laugh wash over him. Arya coughs and looks at him, “They went to lunch together and Lysa called him a cad for marrying a younger girl and said he looked like a fool when he wears those stupid toe shoes. Those ones for running you know? They’re shaped like feet.”

Jaime nods and takes a sip, while Arya composes herself just long enough. “Well, Edmure said she should cut back on the boxed white wine, and recommended _she_ take up running because she had gotten so fat.” With that she threw her head back and cackled. Now he begins chuckling, thinking of Lysa Tully.

Arya pulls herself together long enough to finish, though there’s a waver in her voice. “Since then, she’s been on a keto diet and watches Dr. Oz constantly and spent a bunch of money on essential oils. She’s been rubbing those oils all over everything, but my cousin Robert had an allergy attack over it. I guess she panicked because her weight loss crystals that are dangling everywhere in the house won’t be as effective if they aren’t combined with the oils.”

Jaime snorts. “You know I took your Aunt Lysa to Homecoming one year.”

Arya chokes on her drink, and gapes at him. “ _What_? You and my Aunt Lysa…did you date her or something?”

“Not exactly. It was,” he looks sheepish as he explains, “my father’s idea, her being Hoster Tully’s daughter and all.” He finishes his drink and gets up to refill it.

“And you just said, like, sure I’ll go out with whoever you want?”

“He was my father and he didn’t exactly make it seem like a choice. She wasn’t always fat, you know. High strung, yes.” He feels her eyes follow him. He pours more in his glass and swirls it, lost in the memory. “She was…you know she was kind of pretty then. I had dinner before the dance-at your grandfather’s house actually. Your mother was there. Your mother now…she was stunning.” He takes a drink before joining her on the couch. She’s sitting there, mouth hanging open.

“Close your mouth, or I might mistake it for an invitation.”

Arya’s jaw clamps shut and she gives him a disgusted look.

He smirks at her as he sits down, a little closer than before. “And anyway, once Lysa and I got there, all she did was titter and swoon, and couldn’t manage a single conversation more than a sentence or two. Clearly, it was true love. I almost proposed to her on the spot. I’ve been pining away for her ever since.”

An irritated look crosses her face before she turns away and stares out the living room windows. “That’s just so… _weird_ ,” is what she says. Jaime studies her profile. The curve of her ear, the alcohol fueled flush in her cheeks, the pale skin of her neck. Suddenly, it’s all too much for him to take in. It’s as if he stares too long, his heart may give out. _She_ is too much.

He joins her in staring out the windows. “It really _is_ weird, isn’t it?” He says thoughtfully.

 

He senses movement as Arya gets up. Crossing his line of vision, he takes particular notice of her skirt, and how it hitched up just a little, showing more slim thigh. His fingers itch, and he wonders how much smooth skin surface his hands would cover.   He rests an arm over the back of the couch and closes his eyes as he tips his head to the ceiling, praying for strength.

The clinking of bottles draws his attention away from desperate pleas for self -control. “I wasn’t aware this was an open bar, and that I’m a willing participant in supplying alcohol to minors.”

She spins on him, glass in one hand, bottle in the other. “You just told me you went on a date with my aunt and that you find my mother hot. How would that _not_ drive me to drink?” Instead of waiting for a response she adds a bit before setting the bottle down.

“I can’t have drunk teenagers stumbling around the building.”

Arya ignores that, and he watches as she moves toward her book bag, and he’s slightly annoyed she hadn’t taken her place next to him. Carefully holding the glass in her right hand, she squats down and begins to rummage through a pocket. Standing up she fingers a pack of cigarettes open and uses her mouth to pull one out. The pack is then launched at him. Jaime pulls one out for himself before pitching the rest on the coffee table.

Standing up, he nods for her to follow him. They weave their way past the fireplace and through the kitchen for the balcony door. It’s still raining, but there’s shelter enough.

 

She lights her cigarette and his, and they’re both quiet as they lean on the balcony railing. Arya has a bit of a hard time with it, considering how short she is. She has to stretch herself on her tiptoes to lay her arms across the top of the iron holding.

Both of their gazes are distant, fixed on the cloud covered sky and coming of dusk. The only sounds are from the traffic all those floors down.

Arya breaks the quiet. “I’m not really sorry Robert Baratheon is dead, no offence to your harpy sister.”

Jaime is too flabbergasted to answer right away, and just stares at her and the completely out of nowhere comment.

“He was just so…” she glances at him, ”so fucking creepy.”

“Uh well,” Jaime struggles to say something. “I’ll let the harpy know she has your condolences. And Robert…he certainly enjoyed booze and violence and whores. Stuck his dick into any woman willing to open their legs. I suppose it isn’t a stretch that he’s creepy too.” Although he has no idea why Arya in particular labeled him as such.

He doesn’t wait long before she clarifies. “Ever since I was twelve, or something, he’d drink too much and start calling me my dead aunts name-Lyanna-my father’s sister.”

Oh yes, he knows.

Turning around to grab her drink she’d placed on the patio table she continues. “Last year, after Easter brunch he got so drunk he tried to get me to sit on his lap and started crying about blue roses. The fat bastard was drinking the good bourbon straight out of the decanter. My father found him, and helped him up to the guest room.” Arya looks at Jaime, face scrunched up. “He vomited all over my mother’s good rug.”

“That definitely qualifies as creepy at the very least.” Jaime agrees. In all honesty, his behavior isn’t that shocking. It was vile and disgusting, but not shocking. “He went on a couple of dates with your aunt, but she started dating someone else. That oaf couldn’t get over it, even after she died and he married my sister.”

Arya nods, clearly hearing the story for the first time. “Nobody ever talks about her.

Jaime says quietly, “I knew her when she was your age. You look just like her, actually.”

Arya’s head darts up, scrutinizing him. “Everyone said she was _beautiful_. It’s the only thing they ever say.”

Jaime looks directly into her eyes. “She was.”

She doesn’t blush at his implication of her own striking beauty, but just continues to study him, most likely trying to gauge if he was telling the truth or having her on. He won’t disengage himself, until she knows precisely his opinion is of her. Jaime wants no mixed signals, no crossed messages. Without saying it out loud, he needs Arya to know.

 

The buzzer sounds, and Jaime takes her in for a second longer before putting his cigarette out in a tastefully placed planter. He goes to answer the door, and as he’s waiting for the delivery guy to repeat the order and unzip the insulated carrier, he can hear Arya rummaging through his kitchen.

He closes the door just in time to hear her cursing. “These stupid cabinets were made for someone twelve feet tall,” she mutters to herself. He goes to deposit the bags on the kitchen table when he sees her on his countertop. She had used a drawer as a step stool, one knee balanced as she reaches for plates. The plastic bags hooked to his fingers almost slip off onto the floor at the sight.

With youthful grace, she hops down as she shuts the cabinet, and pushes the drawer closed with her foot. Twirling, she gathers the flatware she’d found and comes to the table. “That smells really good,” she says.

They sit across one another at a table meant for a bachelor. The food is good, and they chat in fits and starts. Mostly it’s her teasing him about Lysa, while he asks if she needs a booster seat. After a bit she asks about his motorcycle, and he’s more than happy to ramble on while Arya asks questions here and there.

Between bites, Jaime says something that causes Arya to call him ‘fucking smarmy,’ to which Jaime retorts with more innuendo. Arya laughs, food still in her mouth. If normally he finds it absolutely disgusting, he’s oddly charmed now.

“Thanks for dinner,” she says as she gathers the plates and forks. Jaime gathers the trash and whatever is leftover. She rinses the dishes, but leaves them in the sink.

"There’s a dishwasher right next to you.” He says.

Arya scoffs. “Do I look like your maid?”

“No, you look like a school girl that’s taking advantage of my good and generous nature.” She smiles up at him as he tries to fake scowl at her.

Searching the kitchen, he finds his drink he abandoned for dinner. Hers is next to his and he notices an imprint of her lips, probably by lip balm. He blinks and hands her the glass. Grabbing the pack of cigarettes, she follows him outside again.

 

This time, they sit at the table he rarely uses.

Arya stretches her legs in front of her. “Do you have guns?”

“If that’s not the most chilling question I’ve heard from you, I don’t know what is,” Jaime says dryly.

“I mean, you were in the military. I want to learn how to shoot.”

“Why? Planning the next Great Train Robbery?”

“No,” Arya says as if he’s stupid. “I want to protect myself. Just in case.”

“In case of what? Your father hunts. Have him teach you.”

“I would but when he did hunt I was too young. Now that I’m old enough he doesn’t have time.”

Jaime exhales, and tosses back the rest of the scotch. He doesn’t assume she’ll track down Joffrey as soon as she gets a firearm in her possession, but he’s still slightly leery at the prospect.

“Jaqen already taught me some self-defense stuff, like what to do if someone grabs you, but I just really want to learn.” Arya makes a point to look directly at him. “I won’t be doing what you think I’ll be doing.”

“I never implied- who’s _Jaqen_?” The strange name sounds familiar, but can’t figure out from where.

“Jaqen H’gar. The head of security for my father. He was like a Russian super soldier, or spy or something.”

Now he remembers. He had met Jaqen H’gar at the Starks’ holiday get together years ago. “I know who he is. He wasn’t a _super spy_ , he was a member of the Russian Alpha Group. A military force. I remember because I talked to him about how I was Force Recon.”

Jaime remembers being slightly annoyed by the guy with his accent and air of mystery. More of a James Bond than a soldier. And furthermore, it was also mildly annoying to think of that… _glorified security guard_ touching Arya, even for innocent purposes.

“See? It’s better that it’s you to teach me, anyway. We’ll consider it part of the grooming protocol.” Jaime groans at her while she laughs.

“I’ll think about it, okay? My time is very valuable.”

“Hm. Are you sure? I’ve given you a lot to think about, I guess. Or do you even remember? It’s unfortunate to think the Alzheimer’s have finally taken over.” Arya shakes her head sadly.

He lifts his chin at her. “Keep it up little Stark, and I’ll do something that both of us won’t forget.”

“Really?” She asks, eyebrow raised. “Is that a threat?”

“Oh no.” He leans over the table slightly and gives her a cocky smile. “It’s a promise.”

Arya bursts out laughing.

He’s about to chastise her, remind her of what happens to naughty school girls when they don’t respect their elders, when he hears the door open inside.

“ _Jaime! Dearest Jaime!”_

Arya stops laughing and they both look to each other before turning around. She stomps out her cigarette and gulps down the booze as Jaime gets up to investigate.

“ _Where are you, brother mine?”_

Tyrion is bellowing while steadying himself on the doorframe. Jaime stops in his tracks and Arya bumps into his back. “Tyrion?”

Arya shifts from behind him.

With bleary eyes, Tyrion follows Jaime’s voice. “There- there you are.” Tyrion’s eyes narrow and he leans forward slightly. “Oh, and is that…Arya? Stark? Hello, Arya Stark.”

Trying to keep the smile off her face, Arya puts on her most polite voice. “Hello, Mr. Lannister.” She glances sideways at Jaime and he only manages a slight shrug.

“Oh please, call me Tyrion. We’re all friends here,” he declares while stumbling in, not bothering with the open door. “Well, not all of us. The tall, handsome, golden specimen of a man next to you is actually my brother. But you knew that, didn’t you Arya Stark?”

“What are you doing here, Tyrion?” Jaime asks nonchalantly, clearing away his and Arya’s glasses. Hopefully, Tyrion is as drunk as Jaime suspects, and won’t remember Arya’s presence.

Tyrion takes unsteady steps to the bar, stopping only when he passes Arya. He braces himself, hand on her elbow. Looking up at her, he tilts his head slightly. “Has anyone ever told you that you look just like your Aunt. Not…” Tyrion sways a bit, “not Lysa. The other one. _Lyanna_.” He wags a finger at her before crashing into the bar.

Jaime leans against the sink and crosses his arms. “ _Tyrion.”_

The younger Lannister doesn’t hear him, or is ignoring him, too busy fumbling around with a glass as he squints at the bottles in front of him. Deciding on one, he clumsily pours it into the glass, sloshing alcohol on his hand and the floor.

He turns around to find both Jaime and Arya staring at him. “There was no one at the front desk,” he says breezily. “So I invited myself up. You ought to speak them about security, brother.” He takes a drink, and lifts the glass to admire it. Lowering it slowly he glances at Arya, then Jaime. He does it again, and Jaime is just waiting for him to say something.

“My deepest apologies if I…interrupted something.” Is what he says before he falls over, passed out drunk.

Arya slowly steps toward a splayed out Tyrion Lannister. Frowning down at him, she says, “I should probably go.”

He escorts her to the front door, handing her the jacket she came in with. Shouldering her bag, she looks up at him. “Thanks…for dinner and you know, everything. It was nice.”

Jaime gives her a genuine smile, albeit a bit shy. “Yeah, it was. We should…do it again.” Gods he was lame, he thought to himself as the heat crept to his cheeks. “I’ll call you- or text,” he scratches the back of his neck.

“Okay. Or, I can call you too.” She’s blushing, fidgeting with her fingers and biting her lip. “See you ‘round, Lannister.” With that, she turns and leaves.

 

* * *

Jaime hauls his little brother to the couch before taking himself upstairs. Lying in bed, he scrolls through his phone. He feels full, content. Happy even. He’s trying to distract himself as to why, even though it’s oh so obvious.

His thumb stops at a news headline. Something about it catches his attention. It was just a single paragraph write up on the death of a new born girl still in the hospital nursery, named Barra Waters, while her mother slept. The video footage caught the unknown culprit in the act of smothering the child, however the assailant’s identity is unknown.

 

* * *

The next morning, Jaime lounges in his pajamas, listening to his brother snore. He almost had to restrain himself from sending a text to Arya asking if she made it home okay. Instead, he opts to pour himself more coffee while he waits for Tyrion to wake up.

His phone buzzes and the screen lights up. Putting the carafe down, he unlocks his phone. It’s a text from Arya letting him know she got home just fine. And since old people worry all the time, she figured he’d want to know.

Jaime stares at the message, then his cup of coffee, then at the couch where Tyrion’s still snoring, then back at the message again. It was getting downright eerie now.

Taking his coffee back to the chair he props his feet up on the coffee table, and thinks about what he should text back to her, when he’s distracted by Tyrion’s groans. With amusement, he watches as Tyrion slowly sits up and rub his eyes. He then proceeds to look down at himself and pats his suit jacket pockets and his trouser pockets. Apparently satisfied, Tyrion groans again.

“Good morning, dear brother. Coffee?” Jaime’s smiling at him and Tyrion swivels his head and scowls. His little brother still smells like liquor and cigars.

With half open eyes, Tyrion asks for water. “Or if you’ve got those tablets? The…uh electrolyte ones you add to water.” In a minute, Jaime places two glasses of water in front of him, one with a fizzing tablet at the bottom. “Thanks. You were always my favorite brother.”

Chugging both glasses, one after the other with alarming speed, Tyrion stands up and makes his way to the bathroom just as Jaime was going to ask why he had come.

He’s impatient waiting for Tyrion to reemerge. He’s shitting, showering, or taking the longest piss known to man. He decides to text Arya back, warning her of his promise to her if she kept calling him old and added _a Lannister always pays his debts._

“I wasn’t imagining Arya Stark in your house, was I?” Tyrion asks as he’s coming down the hallway. Jaime sighs, hopes dashed that Tyrion would forget.

“No,” he admits reluctantly. “She was here.”

Tyrion comes into the kitchen, looking a little more put together, suit jacket draped over his arm. Opening the refrigerator, he begins pawing through Jaime’s food. “Is this take away still good?” Jaime says it is, and to help himself.

Tyrion joins his brother, shoving cold Pad Thai into his mouth. “What are you doing with Ned Stark’s daughter?”

Jaime doesn’t want to lie, but doesn’t want to tell the entire truth. He clears his throat. “We are working on something together.” He lifts the coffee to his lips, “A project.”

Tyrion stops chewing and looks at him. “You…are…working on a project…together?” His words are slow, as if he strings them together in such a way, it may make more sense.

“Yes.”

“And I assume, since she was wearing her Saint Baelor’s uniform that she is in high school?”

Jaime eyes the pack of cigarettes left behind, and he itches to grab one. “Yes.”

Tyrion studies him with feigned patience. “Look Jaime, I am completely understanding of most perversions, as I am a purveyor of a great many. I _also_ understand the appeal of young, nubile virgins-“

“- _Jesus_ , Tyrion-”

“Is that what this is? Are you and her…” He trials off.

Jaime takes a deep breath, and scrubs a hand over his face. Just how much is he openly willing to admit? “I…she’s an attractive girl, yes. And by that I mean that I am, you know, attracted…to her.” His eyes lift to the ceiling in complete embarrassment.

“And this project of yours?”

“Has nothing to do with that. I can assure you.”

Tyrion gives him a doubtful look despite what Jaime just said. “Just don’t do anything stupid, and don’t get on Ned Stark’s bad side.”

“Noted. Now can we move on as to why you blustered in here in the state you were in?”

“Ah yes.” Tyrion leaves the near empty take away container on the table. “So, the blue prints for The Golden Lion are approved. Ground breaking commences in a week’s time.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. So soon?” Jaime leans forward, a slight panic running through him. “How?”

“It was Robert’s pet project, passed on to his glorious son and heir. The wheels were already turning before he keeled over. Oh, and I’ll add that son and heir has decided to drop out of college and move back in with his dearest mother.”

 

" />

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for the long chapter. i just couldn't find a good place to break, i suppose.


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inappropriate thoughts, dead hamsters, and a thoroughly uncomfortable Jon.

 

_“Oh, and I’ll add that son and heir has decided to drop out of college and move back in with his dearest mother.”_

 

Jaime gives his brother a withering look. “What’s this little shit’s goal, anyway? Throw away any opportunity given to him- bankrupting his mother?”

“You’re asking _me_?”

The coffee cup lands on the table with a hard clink and Jaime throws his hands in the air. “There must be something we can do. I mean, Joffrey got off on a manslaughter charge. There’s got to be a way to stop this.”

Tyrion’s hands run over his face. “ _Do_? What do you mean ‘ _do_ ’? There’s nothing we _can_ do. Not even Stannis or Renly are disputing it, as far as I can tell.” Tyrion gets up and slides himself back into his suit jacket. “Which is odd, considering Stannis would dig his heels in if he even suspected he was being short changed.”

“Tyrion.”

“ _Jaime_ ,” He answers exasperated, “I just don’t know, okay? I don’t. And, when this little business venture of Joff’s fails-which I have no doubt about- he’ll end up putting his siblings and mother in the poor house. Let’s hope for Cersei’s sake that debtor’s prison still doesn’t exist.” Jaime gets up to walk his brother to the door when Tyrion turns around. “Oh, don’t forget the board meeting a week after Monday. Your presence is required.”

Jaime groans. Yes of course. How could he have forgotten about the dullest quarterly meetings known to man? He gives his little brother a final wave before closing the door.

 

He goes to the gym because that’s what he does when there is too much going on. The clank of metal and iron, the din of other gym goers, the burn of sinew and ligament and muscle…these are the things he knows. The blunt physicality that has led him along in life. That’s where his value lies- his speed and strength. Unlike when he was twenty-two (oh, Arya was just a baby, wasn’t she) his time spent here had more to do with vanity than necessity. He was just a veteran now, a civilian. Jaime sits up from the bench to wipe the sweat from his face and glances at the TV mounted to the wall in front of him. It’s only in passing he sees the news on.

_Twin eight-year-old boys that have been missing for the past two days have been found. The Hill twins, with black hair and blue eyes were found dead outside the Bull Run Reservoir, killed by a blunt force object. There are no leads._

* * *

 

A week later the phone rings.

“Can I come to your house?”

“How _delightful_ it is that you’ve asked my permission this time.”

“Well, I’m delightful.”

“I’m not sure if ‘delightful’ is the word I’d use. Perhaps, ‘mildly annoying,’ ‘inconvenient’-“

“Can I or not? I have school work, and I can’t find anywhere-“

“ _School_? I know we’ve spent time together, so you know I am much better looking than one of your school marms. You’ll be too preoccupied by my unmatched handsomeness. Ask any student, and they’ll tell you that distractions are the _bane_ of good grades. Instead of algebraic equations, you’ll be thinking ‘ _that Jaime Lannister has the most chiseled jaw I’ve ever seen_ ’-“

“That’s so stupid, and so are you. Plus, I’m taking statistics and calculus, not _algebra_. So can I?”

 

It’s finals week, and Arya only has a paper left to do, but even though she’s bullshitting her way through it, it’s near impossible with the level of noise at her house. Bran and his weird friend Jojen where playing vide games and yelling so loudly, it made her want tear her hair out instead of wanting to join in. Add to that Sansa started screeching about something being dead and ruining her makeup.

It was then she decided to call Jaime. She packed her laptop and notebook she wandered into the kitchen to find Rickon sitting on the countertop, her mother listening to him blubbering about a hamster while Sansa stood there, glaring at him with one hand on her hip, the other clutching a tube of lipstick.

“This is _LA Prairie lipstick_ \- the color is _discontinued_ , and now it’s _ruined_ -“

“Sansa,“ her mother sighs and looks tired, irritated, and very confused. “Rickon, start over, please. Let’s start at how the hamster ended up here-“

“I’m going to the library.” Arya says, relieved at her mother’s distraction, but entirely too curious about what transpired.

“Arya, it’s _finals week_. The library is packed.” Sansa says in the same aggravated tone.

“The public library isn’t. And I can’t concentrate with all the _yelling_.” She says, looking pointedly at Sansa.

“Do you know what he did?” Sansa is waving the lipstick in Arya’s face. “He put a _wet_ , _dead hamster_ in my makeup drawer.”

“Why was it wet?” Is the only question Arya thinks to ask. Never mind Rickon never owned a hamster. He sniffles a little and turns to where Arya is standing, and he’s clutching a small shoebox, presumably where a hamster is.

“Biscuit was dead. I thought it would wake him up.” He whimpers, and Sansa softens a little while their mother gently takes the box out of his hands and places it next to him and brings him in for a hug. “I…understand, sweetheart. But where did he _come from_?”

Arya doesn’t hear the answer, as she’s bounded towards the door before any one can question her.

 

She leans her head against the bus window, absently watching the scenery. Arya called Jaime with the excuse it was too noisy for her-which was true-but there was a little more to it. She liked being with him. Jaime Lannister was funny and crude, stubborn and smart. He teased her about her age, which she did back in full force, but he never treated her like a child. Arya had gone to him with the warning that she was going to _kill his own family member_ \- and he had thought highly enough of her, believed enough in her that she’d do it- that he had sought her out. Jaime hadn’t tried to dissuade her because he didn’t want Joffrey dead, but because _he didn’t want her to get caught._

If, only a few months before, someone would ask her about the Lannisters, she’d say ‘they’re all assholes, all of them.’ But, even she could admit when she was wrong- about Jaime anyway. She trusted him enough to keep his promise- to help her administer justice to someone who deserved it, because everyone else had failed.

Arya is impatient as the bus stops to drop off and pick up more passengers. She taps her foot and thinks about eating dinner with him, and how it replayed in her head enough that it had kept her up at night. Maybe it was more than a crush that she had on him. It feels like more than a crush, and she doesn’t know what to do about it. When she had left Jaime’s that night, there was an urge to strain on her tiptoes and kiss him. She’s thought about how it would feel to run her hands along his face, have his hands on her waist, her hair. Arya bites her lip at the thought of it. She had felt his back and stomach as they rode his motorcycle, and he certainly didn’t _feel_ old.

Maybe, when this Joffrey business was over, they’d part ways, and she’d never see him again. Maybe then she’ll stop thinking about him, stop wanting to text him, stop just wanting to be around him. That’s not true at all, she chastises herself. Didn’t she just make up an excuse to see him without the whole lets-murder-Joffrey pretext?

* * *

Arya thanks him as she moves to the kitchen table. “What’s all this?’ she asks, gesturing to the paperwork covering half the table.

Jaime rests his hands on hips and sighs, staring at the mishmash of papers. “It’s shareholder…shit. Shit I have to read and sign.” She just nods and pulls her laptop out. “So, just couldn’t stay away, hm?” Arya rolls her eyes at him, though he notices a flush to her cheeks at his words.

“ _Actually_ ,” she says, “my house is too noisy. The Citadel City College library is full, because it’s their finals week too- my sister goes there. And the public library is gross. Last time I was there, a homeless guy was watching porn on the computer and masturbating next to me.”

Jaime tilts his head, giving her a considering look. “It heartens me to know I rank above self- pleasuring hobos.”

Arya snorts as she sits down. “Barely.”

“Sit down and do your work.”

 

Jaime tries to make sense of all the paperwork he has spread all over the table. Honestly, he absolutely loathes this stuff, and puts it off as long as possible. He told Tyrion he’d actually read it all this time instead of just signing his name wherever it was needed. That, however, was proving harder than he thought.

He shuffles through to put it in some sort of order, with Arya clacking on her keyboard. He looks up at her, and sees she’s so focused on what she was doing she doesn’t notice him staring at her. The screen lights up her face and she’s biting her lip again. Jaime smiles without even realizing he’s doing it. Watching her was just so much more interesting than what he was supposed to be doing.

And now she was sitting at his table yet again, but this time it’s in comfortable silence. The domesticity of it isn’t lost on him, and he finds it…pleasing.

Once again, she’d surprised him with her boldness. It was a trait he admired, as it was something he had his fair share of. They had a lot in common, he was noticing the more he thought about it. His attraction to her was no longer just about her looks, but her attitude and approach to life. They shared a natural bravado and keen sense of right and wrong. And yes, he was aware of how ironic that is considering his attraction to her veered unquestionably on the _wrong_ side.

Jaime’s phones buzzes somewhere amongst the papers strewn about. He finds it, only to see it’s a text from Tyrion. He tosses it gently aside, unwilling to entertain whatever it is he has to say at the moment. He sighs and looks to Arya, who stopped typing and is just staring at the screen. Jaime looks to his phone, then to her laptop with the glowing Apple logo, then at her.

“What about social media?” He asks.

Arya startles. “What?”

“What about social media,” Jaime repeats. He leans forward, elbows resting on the table. “We can shame Joffrey through you know…Facebook or Snapchat. Like all those celebrities? We can just find something stupid or racist, right? The _Arab Spring_ happened because of Facebook, for fuck’s sake. Surely-“

“ _Joffrey_ is not a celebrity,” Arya interrupts. She pushes her chair back a bit and stares at him. “He literally killed someone, and you want to post bad stuff on his Facebook? First of all Jaime, no one even _has_ Facebook anymore-“

“Fine, yes. I get it.” He leans back in his own chair. “What about Instagram? Everyone has Instagram, right?”

Arya gives him a scornful look. “I don’t know. Do _you_ have Instagram?”

“I do. Which actually reminds me- I wanted to ask if you could work on my brand?” He’s pulling the ignorant, buzzword card he has, hoping to charm her out of her irritation.

Arya lets out a disbelieving breath. “Your _what_?”

“Brand,” he says. “You know, I’m on my way to becoming- what do you call it- oh, _influencer_.” He nods at her. “I would make a great influencer…wealthy, well traveled, handsome- you could throw in the word _luxe_ in there somewhere.“ He gives her a charming smile and he can tell she’s fighting off her own.

“For someone so _well-traveled_ and _handsome,_ you really say some stupid things.” She leans down and digs through her bag and pulls her phone out. After a second or two, Arya scoffs. “You don’t even post anything.”

“I surround myself in an air of mystery.” He replies, grabbing his own phone. He finds Arya, who herself only has a handful of photos, including one of a huge dog. He frowns at the photos of her with a few different boys. He pulls up one of her and a guy that looks like a male model, but it’s tagged as her cousin Jon. Jon certainly took after his mother. Jaime scrolls through a few more. “Who is this fat kid you’re with?”

Arya glances up. “His name’s Hot Pie, and don’t talk about him like that.”

“Hot Pie? That’s his _name_?” Jaime asks.

“It is. On his birth certificate and everything. He actually works as a line cook at a restaurant downtown.” She squints and says quietly, “It’s kind of strange how it worked out for him like that.”

Jaime closes his eyes and shakes his head a little, unable to accept the fact that there was a mother out there in the world that saw fit to name her child ‘ _Hot Pie_.’

 

After an hour, Jaime straightens the papers he’s managed to get through and rubs his face. The legalese jargon was making his eyes strain, and he refuses to think it has to be because he needs glasses, or something. He takes a deep breath and stretches, looking to Arya. She looks as though she’s reading through what she’s been writing.

Jaime is suddenly overcome with the thought that he could walk up to where she sits and could lean down to tug off the boots she’s wearing along with those jeans that hug her so nicely. Jaime could pick her up, move her to the couch, and place her on his lap, remove her sweater and expose that soft white skin he couldn’t help but touch before. What would she do if he pulled her face down to his, bite that lip she always favors. He wants to feel her hot, wet tongue in his mouth while he unclasps what he imagines to be a plain white bra.

Would those small hands that griped him so tightly from behind fumble down his chest, attempting to unbutton his shirt as his hands grip her waist? He would kiss her harder as he feels her unclasp his belt then lift up just enough to pull his pants down to release himself. She would gasp when he swipes her panties aside to see the dark hair she has down there. What does her arousal smell like when he lifts her gently and slowly buries himself inside her. Arya would be so tight and so good as she raises and lowers herself, small breasts brushing his face-

Jaime buries his face in his hands and audibly groans. The girl is literally feet away from him, and his cock is so hard that the tip is leaking.

Jesus Christ.

“Are you okay?” Arya has closed her laptop and there’s a look of concern on her face. She’s doing that fucking _lip-biting_ thing she does and she has no idea how fucking enticing it is.

Jaime takes a deep breath. “Er, no. Not really.” He answers honestly, while subtly trying to adjust his slacks.

“What’s wrong?” She leans over the table on her elbows.

“Just the…you know,” he gestures to the papers on his side of the table. For a second, it doesn’t look like she believes him, but nods anyway.

“Thanks again for letting me over. If I don’t get at least a ‘C,’ my mother told me I’d have to stay the summer with Uncle Edmure and help take care of his new baby. I can’t survive for three months on kale and nutritional yeast.”

“Ah. Doing the bare minimum to get by. I can appreciate that.”

As she begins repacking her things she huffs. “It’s not like I’m going to college right away. I don’t even know what I want to do.”

Jaime wholeheartedly understands that. He was faced with the same decision years ago. “That’s why I joined the Marines. _I_ certainly wasn’t college material. I had to do something.”

With a startling quickness she drops what she’s doing and bolts out of her chair across from him to sit right next to him. “Oh! I wanted to ask. Is it true then? I read all about the Force Reconnaissance. Do you really train by dangling out of a helicopter over water?” She’s wide-eyed and excited, and it flatters Jaime that she spent time looking up what it was that he’d spent years doing.

He chuckles and feels a little warm. “Yeah, that and, uh, running miles in the sand with a fifty pound rucksack.” Arya leans forward. “There was also treading water in full gear for half an hour, and swimming the length of an Olympic pool dragging a cinder block the entire time.” She’s looking at him with such starry-eyed admiration. Admiration was nothing he’d ever been short of his entire life, but _Arya Stark’s_ admiration makes him flush. “Plus, Para trooping, diving, map reading…”

“I thought about joining the service. I’d think I’d like to serve but…I wouldn’t want to take orders…does that make sense?” She asks uncertainly.

Jaime nearly laughs out loud and shifts forward, closer to her. “You know I had the exact same problem. I liked the training and the combat- at first anyway. But bowing to authority was never something I was good at. I got over it, obviously.”

She grins at him and he can’t help but mirror her. It’s then he realizes their closeness. All he has to do is reach over a few inches and he’d be able to place his hand on her knee. A few fucking inches and he could claim her lips. He feels a jolt and his breath hitches. Arya placed her fingers in between his where they were splayed, palm down on the tabletop.   The feel of her small, slim fingers twined in amid his large ones was such a small gesture, but it feels like more.

He looks to her and she’s looking at him, silently waiting. All it would take is just dipping his head a few inches, and he’d know. He’d _know_ what it’s like to kiss her. She breathes out and she’s so close he can feel her breath. This close he can smell her shampoo (not floral, but something) and a faint hint of cigarette.

And suddenly he doesn’t give a fuck whose daughter she is, or that she’s sixteen, or that she plots murder in a plaid skirt and knee socks. It’s because she’s become so _much more_ than that. He hasn’t even realized his free hand cupped the back of her head until he’s aware of the thick dark hair enveloping his hand.

Without breaking eye contact, he slowly brings her face up as he bends his down-

And that’s when the low buzz of a phone’s vibration shocks them both. They spring apart and blink at each other, too stunned to make a move or say anything. It’s Arya who darts her eyes to the table and sees that it’s her phone.

She gets up and rounds the table to check, and Jaime takes that brief moment to collect himself. He wipes his hands on his thighs and closes his eyes, silently cursing.

"I should probably get home,” Arya says in a shaky voice.

“Of course,” Jaime replies as nonchalantly as he can. He gets up and faces her. “Can I…do you want a ride home?”

Arya looks down at her phone before shoving it in the back pocket of her jeans. “Yeah. Can we,” she offers a smile, “can we take your motorcycle?”

* * *

She’s looking at their reflection in the brushed metal doors of the elevator as they make their way down to the garage. She’s so much smaller than he is, and it’s never really occurred to her by how much. Arya is hardly up to his shoulder, and how weird is it that they are the complete opposites physically, yet quite the same in every other way.

The elevator stops at the fourth floor, and a handful of people get on. She’s about to step back and give room to the new occupants when Jaime reaches down and wraps his arm around her shoulders, pulling her a few steps backward. When the door closes, she expects him to let her go, but he doesn’t.

Arya wants to jump up and down or crawl out of her skin, but fortunately for the other passengers she doesn’t. Instead, she smiles at her feet before she tentatively reaches up and grips the back of Jaime’s jacket. She can’t stand to look up at his reaction to that, but she does hear him clear his throat and pull her a little tighter to his side.

Even as they reach the garage, he doesn’t let go of her until they reach his bike. He gives the helmet to her. “Don’t you think you ought to get another one of these?”

Jaime gives her a curious look. “Maybe I’m not used to giving anyone-let alone young maidens- rides on this trusty steed.” He mounts the bike, waiting for her to put the helmet on.

She looks down at the helmet in her hands then quickly puts it on. “Perhaps young maidens want more than one ride.” Arya places her hands on his broad shoulders as leverage to straddle the seat behind him. In a fit of bravery she darts her arms underneath his, feeling her way down his chest before they rest around his stomach, where she interlocks her fingers, bracing for the roar of the engine.

She can feel him tense up, and he’s still for a few beats before they dash out into the night.

 

She slides off the bike when he stops in front of her house. Arya couldn’t stop smiling the entire ride, and her body was buzzing with an electricity she’d never felt before. No wonder Sansa and her stupid friends bounce up and down and squeal when talking about boys. That’s exactly what she feels like doing.

She takes off the helmet as she’s facing him and he reaches for it, but Arya hesitates and keeps it clutched in her hands. Scuffling a shoe on the pavement she takes a deep breath, and in one movement, she pushes the helmet into his hands and leans over and kisses him on the cheek. It’s quick and barely a peck, but it’s enough for her to feel his cold skin and soft stubble. It isn’t rough like she thought it would be. The smell of him is regal and exotic and although she wants to linger there and nestle her face into his neck, she just can’t.

When she pulls away, Jaime looks dumbfounded and slack-jawed. Her own face is burning, and it doesn’t help when Jaime reaches for her hand, skimming her knuckles delicately. Neither of them says anything when she tugs her hand back. Turning away from him, she focuses on her feet as she goes through the open gate and up the long drive. Jaime’s motorcycle is still idling where she left him, but she doesn’t have the nerve to look over her shoulder. It isn’t until she’s inside, leaning against the closed doors that she hears him leave.

* * *

 

It’s the next Saturday, and Arya is buried under her covers. It’s the first official day of spring break, and she sighs in relief. She’s been spending her nights no longer focused on Joffrey and the great many ways she could enact revenge, but on Jaime Lannister and how he’s in her head and her heart in a constant loop.

There’s banging of doors downstairs, and Arya groans, flopping a pillow on her head. She’s about to drift off again until she hears familiar male voices and her little brothers yammering away. She sits up and listens to a laugh she hasn’t heard in ages.

_Jon!_

Arya bounds down the stairs and runs into the kitchen to find everyone congregated there.

“There you are- _oof_.” Jon stammers as she launches herself into his arms. She laughs as he spins her.

“I’ve missed you.” They say in unison, and Jon chuckles as he puts her down.

“Oh, I see. Don’t even miss your _brother_.” Robb says sounding put upon. He’s resting his elbows on the kitchen island next to Bran who’s seated himself on the counter. Bran’s shoving fistfuls of dry cereal in his mouth, completely unfazed by their mother’s warning to stop because she’s making breakfast.

“I didn’t see you there,” Arya says slightly shamed. “What are you doing here? I thought you wouldn’t be here until Monday.”

Robb meanders over to her. “Ask Jon. He couldn’t wait.” He brings her in for a headlock and plants a rough kiss on the top of her head before wandering over to the stove to inspect the food cooking. “Not that I mind,” he says. “I can’t remember the last time I had a decent meal.” Robb reaches for a strip of bacon, and Catelyn shoos him away.

“You should learn to cook,” Sansa volunteers from the kitchen table, face hidden behind her phone screen.

“Really? This coming from Master Chef Sansa? Remember that time-“

“-Not that I don’t want you boys home, but a little warning might have been nice,” Catelyn interrupts a little loudly, waving a spatula in Robb’s direction. “I could have prepared something special. Now you’ll just have to eat what I can find.”

Ned comes in then and is immediately greeted by Rickon who starts yanking on the hem of his t-shirt and chattering away while he envelops Robb and Jon in manly, backslapping hugs.

When Father’s attention is on Robb and the drive over, Jon leans over and whispers into Arya’s ear. “After breakfast we’ll go on a walk, alright?” Arya smiles and nods, eager to have Jon to herself.

 

Once the house is out of sight, Jon reaches into his pocket and flips open a pack of cigarettes and hands Arya one. He looks over his shoulder before lighting his, then hers. Arya knows where they’re going. They used to run away and play for hours at the old groundskeeper’s house that’s sat dormant on their property for over a century.

“So,” Jon says, “how are things?”

“Fine. Why?” She looks up at him as they walk, but he won’t look at her. There’s something going on, she suspects, but doesn’t know quite what yet.

“Just…you know.” He shrugs his shoulders.

“ _Okay_ ,” Arya says hesitantly. “How’s your girlfriend? The red head?”

Jon lets out a breath and kicks a clump of dirt. “Ygritte? She dumped me.”

Arya can’t believe her ears. What woman would ever dump Jon? He’s perfect. Smart, funny, good looking. Maybe a little broody, but still. “Why?”

He takes a drag of the cigarette. “She says it’s because I spend too much time studying. And that I’m not all into protests and marches, or taking down the patriarchy…or something.” He grimaces.

“You’re in college,” Arya reasons. “You’re _supposed_ to study.”

Jon finally looks at her, and lifts his eyebrows in agreement. “Wasn’t just that. She said it was a mark of my privilege that I’m an English major, and not something more useful- her words not mine.”

Arya halts in her tracks, and turns Jon towards her. “That is really fucking stupid. And _she’s_ even stupider for saying that.” She’s angry on his behalf though she doesn’t quite know how close they were or how serious. But, a slight to Jon is a slight to her as well. Maybe this is why she’s getting a sort of – _off-_ feeling from Jon.

Jon nudges her, and they continue down the slope. Arya judges that she’s far enough away from the house that she can just drop her cigarette butt here on the ground without anyone finding it. “It’s over,” he says simply. “She’s already dating someone else-“

“Pfft.”

He smiles. “-some guy…he’s got hand tattoos and a beard. Plays banjo for an outlaw bluegrass band or something.”

Arya is horrified. “Sounds like you dodged a bullet, then.”

“What about you?” He asks, a little too casually.

“Me what?”

“You know,” Jon scratches his head, “Like…love life.” Arya almost trips, but manages not to. “I mean…you’d tell me right?” He stops, so she does too, and he’s looking anywhere but at her. “If you were dating someone, or seeing someone…” he trails off and looks so uncomfortable that Arya wants to laugh at him.

Instead of laughing, she narrows her eyes and tries to get him to make eye contact with her. “What is this about?”

Jon groans. “It was Sansa. She called me-“

“-Why is Sansa calling _you_?”

“She called and said I should come home early and talk to you-since you won’t talk to her-about,” he closes his eyes, “…Are you involved with _Jaime Lannister_?”

Arya freezes in place. Her first instinct is denial, even though it _is_ Jon. The word ‘involved’ has many connotations, and she isn’t sure which one suits their situation the best- or at least which one Jon would object to the least. She can’t sum it up into a smooth narrative that would explain why it is she spends time with a man twice her age- or at least a narrative that doesn’t focus on legalities or morality.

Yes, she’s ‘involved’ with him in ways she hasn’t ever been to another person before. It’s why every look, every small touch is so momentous when from an outside perspective it’s platonic and innocent.   When something so simple as an arm around her shoulders becomes more than what it is physically and becomes a seismic shift from ‘ _maybe_ ’ to ‘ _yes_.’ Arya had been daring enough to breach the gap that had been slowly closing between them already with a small kiss on the cheek. Something she’d done to Jon a thousand times, but with Jaime it carried so much more weight. So much implied but not spoken.

She opens her mouth to say something.

“Is it romantic? You and him?”

“I…so what if it is?” She asks quietly and seriously, though perhaps romantic isn’t quite the appropriate measurement of their relationship. _Not yet, anyway_. Arya glances around at the Winterfell grounds, and wishes she could be anywhere else but here. There’s anger bubbling up within her, directed at Jon, directed at Sansa, directed at herself. “What if it is?” She repeats brazenly. “Am I not allowed to date anyone, is that it? Can I not be trusted to make my own decisions?”

“You’re sixteen, Arya and he’s what? _Forty_?” Jon asks in disbelief.

“He’s _thirty-seven_ , actually.” Arya responds defiantly.

“ _He’s an asshole_.”

“ _He is not_.” She says a little too vehemently. Arya scrunches up her face and takes a breath. “Okay, I mean he _is_ an asshole- but not to me. It’s just…you don’t really know him. He’s not manipulating me or taking advantage of me. I know that’s what you’re thinking.” She’s desperate to plead her case to Jon, and thinks that maybe the _plotting to murder Joffrey_ explanation would have been easier.

“Can you blame me?” Jon demands, sounding hurt and incensed.

“Do you really think I’d allow that to happen, Jon? Honestly? That any good -looking guy will just wink at me and I’d just become a quivering, delicate flower? I’m not Sansa, you know. I can handle myself, and more than anything I need you to trust me. Not like I trusted Sansa not to say anything, the cow.”

Jon looks like he wants to press the point more, but takes her by the shoulders instead and studies her. “You sure about this?” Arya doesn’t respond and Jon brushes the hair out of her eyes. “If it…if it gets to be too much, or if you’re out of your depth, if he hurts you…tell me. Understand?” He brings her into such a tight hug, she can hardly breathe. “I love you more than anything in this world, Arya.”

Arya sinks further into Jon and wraps her arms around him.

 

Jon invites her to lunch that afternoon, offering to take her to meet his friend Sam. “You’ll like him,” he says as they’re driving though town. “He’s really smart. Like, _really smart_. He’s getting his PhD in chemical engineering, and he’s hardly older than I am. Skipped the Masters program, even.”

“Can you even do that?” Arya asks.

“If you’re Sam you can, I guess.”

They sit in silence, and Arya doesn’t like it. There’s something in the air between them, despite Jon’s declaration earlier. He keeps glancing at her, and it’s irritating her more and more.

“Just say it.” She grits out.

“Hm?”

“Stop bullshitting me, and tell me why you keep looking at me like that.”

“I’m not-“

“ _Jon.”_

“Jaime Lannister? Really?” They stop at the stoplight, and he takes the opportunity to light a cigarette. “At least just tell me how this all started.”

She sighs and lights a cigarette of her own. “At the courthouse. For Joffrey’s trial. He practically cornered me to apologize for Joffrey.”

“It was _serendipitous_ , I see.” He teases.

Arya whacks him in the arm. “ _Shut up_.”

 

Arya does like Sam. He’s soft spoken with a friendly face, and grabs Arya into a hug as soon as she meets him. “So you’re Arya! I’m happy to meet you. Jon talks about you all the time.” She elbows Jon as soon as they sit down and asks how they met.

Sam turns red as the waitress comes to take their orders. “Oh, that. Well, there was this Tex-Mex place by campus students would go to all the time. I’ve actually seen Jon there before I knew him. Anyway, there was this waitress…she was pregnant at the time, and this customer kept bothering her. You know, pinching her, uh, rear end…saying really vile things. I guess I had enough and asked him politely to stop-“

“-you should have seen the guy, Arya.” Jon interjects. “He was like, six foot three, at least and Sam just stood right up and told him to knock that shit off-“

Sam chuckles, clearly embarrassed. “To be fair, he would have punched me if Jon hadn’t stood up and backed me up.” Arya smiles, because that’s exactly what Jon would have done.

“What would you have done if he _did_ punch you?” She asks as their food comes.

Sam frowns and looks down at his plate before looking up at her and shrugging. “Taken the punch, I guess.”

 

Arya listens to Jon and Sam as they tell stories and joke around, and it’s nice. Sam starts talking about finishing his dissertation and Arya asks what it’s about.

“Wildfire,” Sam answers. “It’s really interesting. Did you know that back in the olden days it was liquid and had to be kept in clay pots? Back then it was really fickle and dangerous. Nowadays though, it’s in solid form. It’s still used for mining and deep sea drilling and whatnot. Now, my dissertation is on the properties it gains in its chiral form….” Sam continues and Arya tries to listen, but once he starts using complex chemistry terms, she’s lost. She doesn’t mind because Sam is enjoying explaining it to her.

* * *

_Fourteen-year-old Maya Stone was deliberately hit by an unknown late 1980’s sedan in a hit and run while riding her bicycle on Vale Avenue. Police are unable to determine motive. Grainy video footage from a neighbor’s security camera captured the vehicle speeding away. Any witnesses are encouraged to come forward._

A school photo of the girl accompanies the article. Black hair and blue eyes.

Black hair and blue eyes. Maya Stone.

He grips his phone a little harder, focusing on the picture of the girl. Something is creeping up in the back of his mind. There’s _something_ familiar about her name and those eyes, but nothing solid is taking shape.

The phone startles him, and the phone icon and Tyrion’s name now replace the news article on his screen.

Jaime sighs and answers.

" />

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's not quite the "Explicit" content one expects...but without saying too much, there will be future chapters where it will live up to the warning.
> 
> If you're interested in leaving me a note, please feel free to do so


	4. 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wandering around the wilderness, target practice, fancy sandwiches, and sometimes things are serendipitous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’d like to thank everyone who takes time to read this ridiculous story and leave such encouraging reviews. 
> 
> You guys are so awesome

_Jaime sighs and answers_

“Yes, I’ve signed the papers,” Jaime says by way of saying hello.

“Oh! Yes, well. That’s good news. Instead of giving them to me, you’re free to join the meeting this week. Pycelle was inquiring after you the other day.”

Jaime flinches. “Why would I do that? I don’t give a shit about Pycelle, and I’d rather die than subject myself to that business suit circle jerk.”

“Prefer your circle jerks in camouflage?” Tyrion jokes.

“Is that why you’ve called? Hoping I’d regale you with tales of lonely desert nights with my brothers-in-arms?” Jaime reaches for the pack of cigarettes that hasn’t moved since Arya left them. He doesn’t have a suitable ashtray, so he fills a mug with water. Wedging the phone between his shoulder and his ear he rifles through a kitchen drawer for a light.

“Maybe next time,” Tyrion says as Jaime sits at the kitchen table and lights the cigarette. “Actually, I’m playing the dutiful brother and informing you Cersei is demanding your presence at a family dinner- hosted by her, of course.”

“Why doesn’t Cersei ask me herself?”

Tyrion laughs. “You think our sweet sister would _deign_ to explain her reasons to me? Assuming she follows some sort of reason or logic.” Jaime leans back in his chair and watches the smoke curl up to the ceiling. “I just assumed you two weren’t talking again.“

“I don’t want to,” Jaime says petulantly. “And _she_ isn’t talking to _me_ , not that I mind. What does she mean by family exactly? Who’s going to be there?”

“I don’t know. She just called and barked orders at me before hanging up. You might want to consider it if Uncle Tygett is going. He’ll irritate Cersei into a complete meltdown. It’d be worth it just for that.”

“Gods,” Jaime says thinking of their uncle. “Remember when we spent the summer in Ashemark and Cersei got to spend all her time shopping? But you and I had to be locked up in Uncle Tygett’s study-“

“- Where he would give us life lessons by speaking in only Vince Lombardi quotes?” Tyrion finishes, and they both groan at the memory. “Whatever you decide let Cersei know. I don’t want to be the bearer of bad news. She’ll do that screeching banshee thing I’m so fond of.   I’d wish you go, if only to keep me sane.”

“They’re your family too.”

“Yes, as I’m constantly reminded.”

“I’ll think about it,” is what Jaime says although he knows he’ll go.

* * *

 

Two weeks back into school, and Arya is staring at a textbook. Staring is the exact right word, since what she’s doing wouldn’t be considered reading. She flops her head down on the open pages and consoles herself by remembering it’s Friday.

Arya has been in equal parts edgy temper and girlish glee since seeing Jaime last. The longer she’d been away from him, the more time she had to mull over her actions and second guess them. What it is they share isn’t one-sided, she’s certain, but Arya has no clue what _she_ is supposed to do now.

She supposes she could ask Sansa- Gods know Sansa would _love_ that- but she’s not speaking to her at the moment, too hurt by her betrayal. Jon has already returned to university, but even if she did talk to him she wouldn’t be sure what to say.

Jaime texted her earlier in the week asking if she wanted to come over for dinner soon and she answered okay, but when he asked _when_ , Arya made some vague excuse about school and said she wasn’t sure. _All because she was scared_. Scared to face him, but scared her inaction would be misconstrued as disinterest.

_Jesus_. She kissed him on the _cheek_ , not given him a blowjob.

 

Her phone buzzes and she darts to the bed. The number, now familiar, gives her pause. Arya blows air out of her cheeks and answers as casually as she can.

“Hello Jaime.”

“Arya. I was beginning to think you were avoiding me,” he says, and Arya is happy to hear his voice. She’s missed the low, measured cadence.

“No, it’s just…you know school.”

“Ah, I see. I was thinking of going shooting-“

” _Shooting_? _”_ Arya gasps, not even bothering to hide her excitement. “ _Guns?”_ At that she completely forgets her apprehension to speaking with him.

“No. Heroin. That plan would be to spend the day together in Flea Bottom, take in the local color.”

She ignores that. “Do you mean it? You’ll teach me? Really? When?”

Jaime laughs at her enthusiasm. “Yes really. And tomorrow if you’re free. There’s a place up on St. Aegon’s near the Blackwater River. Be dressed to hike- we’ll be gone most of the day.” There’s a strain in his voice, and she can just picture him flopping down on that terrible couch of his.

“ _Thank you_ , Jaime. This is so cool.”

“Tomorrow morning, bright and early. I’ll pick you up.”

* * *

He smiles to himself when he sees her sitting on the sidewalk, fiddling with her phone. After not seeing her for fourteen days, it’s like seeing her for the first time all over again, and his pulse quickens. Jaime thinks briefly about honking the horn to startle her, but thinks better of it. No need to alert the rest of the Stark household that _Jaime Lannister_ is taking their teenage daughter out to the mountainous wilderness to shoot firearms.

It amuses him to think what the consequences might be would they were caught, although _caught_ isn’t the right word. Technically, they weren’t doing anything wrong. _Technically_ , there was no impropriety.  

Now _that_ would be an argument he’d like to engage in with good old honorable Eddard and thin-lipped Catelyn. They’d be circling their wagons around Arya- pitchforks at the ready and calling for his head.

Let them come.

She’s worth it.

Especially when he sees her bounding up to his car, beaming at him. She hops in and throws her backpack at her feet. “You shaved.”

“Oh, I did,” he says stretching up and examining himself in the rearview mirror. He’s taken aback that she’s noticed. “Why? Don’t like it?”

“No, you look good.” Arya says casually as she’s fastening her seatbelt. “I like the beard better though.” Jaime is moved by the observation and her implication she found him attractive, and it takes him a moment to pull away from the curb.

Arya leans over and rummages through her backpack. “Here, this is for you.” Jaime looks down to find her lodging a thermos into the center console. “Coffee. Black with sugar.”

“How do you know how I take my coffee?”

Jaime can feel Arya look at him. “When you took me to that diner,” she says as if it was obvious. “You only put sugar in it. Although this is probably better since my mother only buys _organic_ , _Rainforest Alliance_ coffee. It’s right up your alley.”

He thinks back to that day and he vaguely remembers the coffee, his attention fixated on Arya at the time, and he swallows. “Up my alley?” Jaime nods, “It seems you’ve taken well to grooming.”

“You’ve done this before then? Groom many girls, do you?” Arya asks, raising a playful eyebrow.

“ _No_ , usually women just throw themselves at me _wanting_ to please me, you see.” Jaime answers lightheartedly. He doesn’t need to see her to know she’s rolling her eyes at him.

 

It’s a half an hour into the drive and they’re starting to voyage further into the King’s Road Range. The conifers and hills begin to enclose them and the road turns to two lanes. The base of St. Aegon is still another thirty minutes away and Jaime is enjoying the drive.

At least until the subject of baseball is brought up.

It began with arguing over teams, arguing over spring training-which led them to arguing what the most difficult position is.

“It’s _third base_. That’s why they call it the ‘ _Hot Spot,’”_ Jaime says louder than he intended.

“ _Short stop_ is.” Arya counters. “You have to be fast and you have the most responsibilities. You _guide_ the rest of your team-“

“You have to have a _good arm_ for third base- which is the _whole point of the game.”_

Arya scoffs in disbelief. “A _good arm_? Then you may as well say the hardest one is _first base_ -“

“ _You’ve just proven my point_.” Jaime tilts his head, “If you _can’t throw_ then even short stop-.

“-Designated hitters?” Arya says.

That throws him off. “What about them?”

“Do _they_ need a good arm?”

Jaime frowns. “They don’t count.” Arya laughs and opens the thermos and takes a sip. His eyes are on the road and he absently gestures for the coffee. She hands it to him and he’s about to take a sip of his own. “You know, catcher is probably the hardest if you think about it.”

He hands it back and Arya screws the cap on. She turns to him as much as she can in her seat. “You might be right about that actually.” Jaime smiles triumphantly until she says, “Syrio Forel was the best catcher _ever_.”

His jaw drops and he lets out an indignant huff. “ _What?_ Better than Barristan Selmy? Are you kidding me? Forel spent the first _four years_ of his career on a minor league Japanese team. Selmy played your precious short stop too, you know.”

“Selmy is one of my favorites too, not that I was ever a big Stormlanders fan. I just think Forel was the better catcher.”

Jaime shakes his head. “You’re making me regret our little field trip.”

“That’s because you know I’m right.”

 

All arguments on baseball are forgotten by the time they pull off onto the shoulder. They step out and Jaime breathes in. The air here is crisper and cleaner and Arya looks around, pleased look on her face.

He grabs his backpack from the trunk and tosses a paper sack at Arya. She’s caught off-guard but catches it easily. “What’s this?”

“Lunch. I said we’d be here all day.”

She smacks herself in the forehead. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that,” she says as she squats down to put it in her own bag.

Jaime shuts the trunk and shoulders his bag. “So I’m the dashing good looks _and_ the brains of this outfit? What exactly do you contribute?”

Arya gives him a withering look. “Apparently not reigning in your ego.” Jaime laughs quietly and curls his arm around her, leading away from the highway towards the access road. He resists the urge to kiss the top of her head.

“Sidekick. That’s what you are in this operation. My plucky, sassy sidekick.” He says. Arya elbows him, but not hard enough to pull herself away.

“Please. You’re _my_ sidekick, if anything. I’m the brains and you’re the brute strength. I mean, for now anyway-up until the osteoporosis slows you down.” She grins up at him and he narrows his eyes.

“That’s a courageous thing to say considering I could just leave you here out in the woods. Though you were a feral beast as a child – I wouldn’t be surprised if you made a home amongst the bears and wolves.”

The trail tapers and begins a slow rise. They separate, having to walk single file and Arya leads the way. She prattles on until they reach the top of the cliff where there’s a clear view of the dense forest below.

“It’s beautiful,” Arya breathes. Jaime looks at her as she’s admiring the view. So are you, he doesn’t say. And she _is_ , truly. Being out here puts her in a whole different context. Under the natural light among the untouched wilderness, she’s radiant- as if she was meant to traipse along the forest floor amid the ferns and flowers. She turns to him and catches him staring. She must see something in his face because she starts to blush before turning quickly away.

“How much farther is it?” she asks as he directs her toward the trail along the cliff face.

“A mile or so, I think.”

“Just don’t fall and break your hip up here. I don’t know if I can drag you all the way down.”

Jaime stops, cocks his head and takes a daring step towards the cliff edge. Arya notices he isn’t behind her and stops. “What?” She joins him and stares over the edge too.

“Oh. When I toss you over the side, I was wondering which would find your body first: the wild beasts or some unfortunate hiker.”

“Jaime, Jaime, Jaime,” Arya tsks. “If you plan on pitching me over the side, you’ll have to catch me first.” And with that, she’s off like a shot.

It takes a moment for his feet to catch up with his brain. He’s nearly lost sight of her since the trail bends away from the edge towards more even ground. And Arya is fast and sure-footed, as swift as a deer, but he’s also taller and had years of conditioning. As soon as he’s close enough to her he bends down and grabs her by the legs. Arya squeals as he turns her enough to throw her over his shoulder. He lets out a soft _‘oof’_ as her backpack whacks him in the face.

“ _Put me down!”_ She laughs, trying to pound on his back but hitting his backpack instead.

“What?” Jaime asks lightly, pinning her ankles to him so she’ll stop kicking.

Arya is laughing and cursing him all the same. “ _Jaime, please!”_

“I’m sorry, us old folks are hard of hearing.”

“Okay!” She shrieks. “I’m sorry I called you old.” Arya squirms around and Jaime is having a hard time keeping hold of her. Tiny she might be, but she’s strong too.

“Let this be a lesson, little Stark. You’ve got to be faster if you don’t want to be caught.” He slaps her lightly on the back of her leg before lowering her to the ground.

Arya is beaming at him, red in the face as she readjusts her shirt and jacket and brushes hair out of her mouth. She gives him a shove with both hands before leading the way down the trail. “Maybe I wanted you to catch me,” she says to him over her shoulder.

He stands there, watching the sway of her ponytail. I’m the one who’s caught, he thinks. This tiny little minx has imprisoned him and he’s more than willing to submit himself to his jailer.

* * *

They trudge through path that was more trampled foliage than clear trail. Arya looks above her at the swaying branches. She loves it out here and the fact that _Jaime_ took her makes it all the more better.

He leads the way slightly ahead of her, and she can’t help but steal looks at him. She’d expected he’d look out of place out here. Jaime Lannister was all posh and urban sophistication, or so she thought. He’d been in perfectly tailored suits and expensive shoes; drove a car that cost more than a year’s tuition at her private school. But out here, he seems more at ease. Perhaps it was the ruddiness to his cheeks that was brought out by the chillier air that gives her that impression-a sort of youthful glow that wasn’t there under the artificial light of his apartment.

She smiles to herself as she scampers to catch up to him. He still looks like a model that stepped out of an REI catalogue though.

 

They come to a clearing that’s scattered with tree stumps and fallen logs. A sandy hill looms in front of them. “Alright. Here we are.” Jaime announces.

She follows him to a weather worn picnic table and takes in the debris on the ground. Broken bottle pieces, bits of garbage, remnants of a fire pit. Jaime places his backpack on top of the table and pulls out a hard plastic case and boxes of ammunition. There are two handguns inside, and Jaime picks one up and motions for Arya to join him on the bench. Eagerly, she slides beside him on her knees and rests her elbows on the table.

Jaime scoots close enough to her that their sides are pressing together. “This is a Ruger LCR .38. It’s lightweight and a good for beginners. Now, there’s no safety or hammer- you just pull the trigger…” he goes on and explains the parts and what they do, how to load the chamber, and speed loaders. Arya is so excited that she’s vibrating in her seat.

When Jaime asks her to repeat back what he’s just told her, she runs her eyes over it and repeats without flaw. Proud of herself, she smiles up at him and he raises both of his eyebrows. “Well done,” he says.

After placing a paper bull’s-eye on a stump and resting a rock on top to keep it from blowing away, Jaime has her stand in front and hands her the gun and wraps a string of earplugs around her neck. He moves behind her and reaches around to adjust her arms. Arya closes her eyes at the feel of his chest at her back and his hands on hers. Her hands are firmly on the grip, but when he leans down and speaks lowly in her ear, she almost drops it. Jaime is telling her _something_ while adjusting her elbows her hips…and she _tries_ to focus on his words, but his voice and his breath sends chills down her spine. Biting her lip, she thinks he may have said something about not locking your elbows, but she’s not entirely sure. He steps back and she takes that as her cue to put the earplugs in.

Arya does her best to duplicate the stance he showed her and takes a deep breath. She fires and a puff of sand on the side of the hill shows her that although she got it somewhere in the vicinity of the target, it wasn’t even close. Jaime moves to her again, adjusting her here and there before squeezing her shoulder.

The next shots hit the edge of the paper. It’s closer to the rings of the target, and she’s pleased with herself. She looks to Jaime and he’s smiles at her and gives an approving nod. He hands her the speed loader and watches as she ejects the empties with fumbling fingers and reloads.

This time she hits the outer ring with all five shots. Arya wants to jump up and down but instead she reloads what Jaime hands her. She’s about to aim again when she turns to him and motions for him to take the gun.

He aims one handed, and fires all five in such quick succession she hardly has time to catch her breath. To say she’s impressed in an understatement, because every single shot has hit the center.

“That is really, _really_ badass,” she says gaping at him, awe-struck. Her muffled voice reminds her to yank the earplugs out. _Holy shit_ \- Jaime shooting guns is probably the most attractive thing she has _ever seen_ in her life.

They go through the same process with what Jaime tells her is a Glock g19. She readies herself to aim. “Can I shoot this sideways? Like a gangster?”

Jaime gets the most appalled look on his face. “Not if you want to actually hit anything.”

 

Arya rests her back on the picnic table and Jaime settles his elbows on his thighs. They decided to take a break so Arya can rest her wobbly arms. She takes a drink from her water bottle and tries to ignore the fact that they’re pressed up against each other again. If he wasn’t going to make a big deal about it, she certainly wasn’t.

“What else do you have? Like rifles or shotguns?” She asks, watching him smoke. He makes everything he does look so fucking cool, and it irritates her a little.

Jaime reaches over her to grab her water bottle. “I have a few rifles, but not shotguns. I don’t duck hunt or own a convenience store.” Arya frowns at him. He has _his own_ water- she’d seen it when he was pulling stuff out of his backpack.

As he’s taking a drink, she grabs the cigarette from between his fingers and takes an exaggerated inhale. Jaime doesn’t react at all except to set the bottle down next to him and sigh. He leans back to relax his arms on the table, one of which rests around her shoulders.

He’s turned away from her staring off into a copse of trees when she looks to him to ask him something. Just as her mouth opens, there’s a tug and he’s pulls the cigarette out of her hand. He reaches for it with the opposite hand as she protests.

“ _Hey_.” She tries to lunge across to get it back, but the hand that’s resting on her shoulder pins her down.

“You’ve got to be faster,” he says in that satisfied way of his.

Arya shakes her head, but can’t help but smile. “Jerk.”

Instead of saying anything, he nudges her closer and she rests her head on his shoulder. Arya takes a deep breath to try and calm her heart. How or when they became so comfortable in each other’s spaces, she doesn’t know and doesn’t question- especially since she can smell that cologne or aftershave or whatever it is of his.

Closing her eyes, she unconsciously nuzzles into him as he rubs a thumb up and down her arm.

* * *

 

 The cigarette he holds burns down to the filter and he drops it to let it burn itself out because doesn’t want to jostle Arya by stepping on it. He looks down slowly at her face, her eyes closed, and he uses this moment to take her all in. Drink his fill of her in the quiet.

Such a saucy and tough little thing. Jaime is proud of her marksmanship and impressed with her natural ability. He’d had known men in his career that couldn’t shoot that well their first time.

He shuts his eyes and lifts his face up to the weak sun. Gods above, she was an amazing girl. It’s little wonder why he’s so wrapped up in her.

Jaime looks down at her again, and she’s so still, he thinks she may have dozed off. Carefully, he places his cheek on her sun-warmed hair. Dark wayward strands tickle his nose. “Hey you,” he says softly into her hair.

Arya startles slightly and pulls herself away. She looks mildly embarrassed and scratches the side of her nose. “Sorry. You’re really uh…warm and comfortable.” She stands up and stretches. “Can I go again?”

Jaime chuckles and waves her on.

 

Arya is getting more confident the more she does it, and he finds little to correct. He thinks she’ll be quite good after practicing a few more times. She loads the magazine of the Glock with ease and hands it to him.

“Can you get that stump over there?” She asks pointing. When he hits it, she points to something else to aim for. Soon, it becomes a game where she points and he shoots.

Jaime removes the empty magazine and pulls out his earplugs to suggest lunch. “We can wander down to the river, if you want to eat there.”

Arya groans. “ _Yes_. I’m starving,” she says dramatically and wanders over to the picnic table.

“ _Starving_?” Jaime asks incredulously. “Look how small you are. How much can you possible consume?”

She helps gather their things and pack it away. “Pfft. I may be small, but I can take a lot.”

He gives her a lopsided smile and raises and eyebrow, ready to say something inappropriate to that when he hears a voice behind him.

“You folks done here, or do you mind sharing?”

Jaime turns to find a man and a boy, both with rifles slung over their shoulders.

“We’re just leaving,” Arya answers, and Jaime directs her to pack away the guns safely.

“Remember to unload them. Double check to make sure.” She nods seriously. He watches her for a few seconds before he goes to remove the target sheet.

“Wish my daughter would be interested in shooting. Just about your girls age, too,” the man says to Jaime as he’s setting up stand up targets with the boy.

Jaime folds up the paper carefully and hums at him. But he’s bristling at the thought that someone thinks Arya is his _daughter_. It then occurs to him what they look like together to an outsider. He rolls up the paper in his hands and looks to Arya, who’s carefully placing the case back into his backpack.

“…the only thing she’s interested in is K-Pop boy bands…” This guy has been nattering on, and Jaime wasn’t listening at all. He’s too busy thinking that whenever they go out together in public, that’s what people are going to assume.

Does that matter to him? Does he care about that?

_No, not at all._ He never cared about what people thought about him before, and he sure as fuck isn’t going to start now.

 

They amble down the way they came, Jaime telling her stories about boot camp. “There’s this guy, Meryn Trant, the biggest dipshit I’ve ever known. We were tasked to clean our Berettas, and this asshole didn’t unload or dry fire first- so the thing goes off and shoots the hat off a commanding officer.”

“No shit? What happened to him?”

He tells her as they cross the access road the entered on, and she tells him stories her Great Uncle Brynden told her about his time during Desert Storm.

“Why do they call him the Blackfish?” Jaime asks, and Arya shrugs. “I’ve always wanted to know. I met him at dinner at your mother’s, but I was entirely too chicken shit to ask.”

“You? _Scared_? He’s not even all that scary.”

“Are you kidding? The man was big enough to tear me in half. He could _still_ probably do it.”

Jaime can hear the slow rush of the river and spies a trampling of undergrowth that veers off from the trail. Curious, he tugs her fingers and follows it. They amble through for a few minutes before there’s a decline neither are prepared for. Jaime slips a little and so does Arya until she grips the back of his jacket to catch herself. Without looking behind him he offers a hand to her and she takes it.

They find themselves weaving through a mass of trillium and wild ginger, still hand in hand. “Looks like we found a good spot,” Jaime says, because directly ahead of them is a small pebbled beach.

She releases him and runs to the water’s edge. He follows, but halfway down he takes off his bag, sits down and wraps his arms around his knees. Arya edges closer, fingers tucked under her bag straps. Jaime watches her take it in before turning around to join him.

“Did you know about this place?” She asks when she’s close enough for him to hear her.

Jaime shakes his head. “Guess it’s our lucky day.”

Arya sits down cross-legged beside him and fishes out the paper sack he’d thrown to her earlier. She peeks into the bag and pulls out two apples and two sandwiches wrapped in parchment paper.

Unwrapping her sandwich, she opens up the bread a little. “This looks really good. What’s in it?”

Jaime unwraps his. “Roasted tomato, chèvre, thyme, and olive oil.”

“Wow. Where’d you get it?” She’s shifting around getting more comfortable.

“Where did I- _I made it.”_ He says defensively. To that, she looks up wide-eyed.

“Really? Sorry. I guess it’s just weird to think of you doing something so normal, like make a sandwich.” Arya doesn’t elaborate on why she thinks that, opting instead to take a bite. “This is _so good_ ,” she moans, mouthful of food.

His sandwich is half way to his mouth when he says, “You always act like you haven’t eaten in days. You’re the product of two of the wealthiest families in the country- how many Starks are there that they can’t afford to feed you? Wait- is _that_ why you’re hanging around me all the time? Because _I_ feed you?”

Arya snorts. “There were six kids,” she says. “It was like the Hunger Games every meal – you had to learn to move fast. It’s not so bad now that Jon and Robb are at university- they’d eat the entire meal for eight if they could.” She takes another bite. “And I _hang around you all the time_ because we’re,“ she hesitates, “…friends, right?”

Arya glances at him, her voice unsteady and suddenly the tone of their conversation changes.

Jaime examines her face. He can feel her uncertainty; see the questions behind those wide, grey eyes. “ _Friends_?” He says quietly, solemnly. “Sure…or…” He swallows thickly, shrugs his shoulders and looks out at the slow current of the river. He can’t face her because he can’t build up the courage to tell her true- can’t say any of the words that would reveal-in all of it’s raw honesty-how he feels.

“Or?” Arya asks just as quietly, and he can feel her gaze on him.

“Something else.” Jaime swallows again, trying to push down the beating of his heart that made its way to his throat.

“Something else?” She repeats cautiously.

He wants to tease her and ask if she plans to spend the rest of the day repeating his every word, just to bring levity back into the exchange. Instead, he turns to her and catches her eye. Arya searches his face and soon rewards him with a dazzling smile, before turning a bright shade of red and ducking her head.

And he can’t help but do the same.

Jaime breaks the momentary awkwardness between them by elbowing her, pushing her to her side. She scoffs, and uses her full weight to do the same. She tips him slightly and he huffs out a laugh. They both readjust themselves, so they’re side by side cross-legged, knees touching. A comfortable weight is on his arm as Arya rests her head against him and continues to eat. He picks up his own food and does the same.

 

“Are you crazy? It’s freezing,” he says as he watches her pull off her boots and peel off her socks.

“Just for a minute. It won’t be that bad.”

Arya traipses down the water and rolls her jeans up. Without even dipping a toe in first, she steps right in. “ _Fuck_ it’s cold.”

Jaime gives a hearty laugh and she flips him off.

“Come join me,” she hollers, taking a few more steps.

“No thank you,” Jaime says and salutes her. “I trust your assessment.”

“Whatever you say, coward.” She turns away from him then, inspecting something beneath the water.

Coward? Honestly? Jaime takes off his jacket, removes his boots and socks and creeps as soundlessly as he can to stop the clacking of the rocks under his weight. He stops just short of where she’s waded to roll up his jeans as far as he can, all while keeping an eye on her.

And just as he did earlier, he sweeps her up from behind but now holds her in a bridal carry.

She gasps and clings to him with one arm around his neck and the other clenched to his shirt.

“Arya Stark. _You’re_ no coward, are you,” he smiles down at her. “Why, I bet you’d take me up if I suggested a swim right now, wouldn’t you?”

Arya’s eyes widen in alarm as he takes a couple of steps further into the river. “Just a quick dip. I’d think it’d be rather refreshing,” he jokes and sloshes another two steps, water almost up to his knees now. Fuck. It _is_ cold.

“ _You wouldn’t dare_ ,” she says, whipping her head over her shoulder to gauge how close she really is to the water.

 “No?” He starts to lower her slowly, pretending he’s going to release her to the mercy of the river. Arya squeals and kicks her legs, and he tries to keep hold but she’s flailing enough that he loses his grip.

Her feet fall into the water, which causes another squeal and has her clamoring up his body, kicking freezing cold water on them both. Jaime laughs and now Arya is facing him, soaking wet legs wrapped around his middle, small arms around his neck.

“ _Take me back_ ,” she demands, laughter in her voice. He wraps his arms under her for support; though she’s clinging tight enough he probably doesn’t need to.

“So soon?” He pouts, straining his neck back to look at her. “I used to spend hours and hours in frigid water like this, I thought maybe you were interested in learning a thing or two. You _do_ trust me, don’t you?”

Arya pulls back to look at him. Her hands that were gripping so tightly on his neck flutter to the sides of his face, bottom lip once again caught between her teeth.

“I do trust you.” She says gravely.

It’s then she leans down and gently kisses his lips.

Mere seconds and it’s over, closed lipped and tentative, before she pulls away. Arya looks nowhere but his eyes, and he knows she’s trying not to doubt her instincts. Despite what Jaime had implied to her earlier, she’s still unsure of herself. And maybe that’s his doing- perhaps what he thought was so obvious…wasn’t.

Jaime recognizes the openness and vulnerability in her face. This isn’t the first time she’s brazenly stepped over some boundary and let her intentions be known- his cheek, where those plump bow lips had touched, still burns him to this day.

Oh brave girl.

_His_ brave, beautiful girl. What a wonder she is.

He shifts his weight, one arm supporting her while the other travels to her hair. He runs his fingers through the thick strands of her ponytail before cupping the back of her head and lowering it to him.

Arya’s lips part this time, opening to him. Her mouth is warm and she tastes like heady, woodsy thyme and sweetness of apple. Delicately, he meets her tongue and engages it. Jaime Lannister forgets about the cold, swirling water around his legs, the chilly early spring air that whips the tendrils of Arya’s hair around his face…her age, his age…

 

Because Jaime Lannister has fallen in love with Arya Stark.

" />

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally another 1,000 words longer, I stopped it here. A romantic filler chapter...necessary because the next couple are buckling down on Joffrey. Also, because I wanted it.


	5. 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revelations, confessions, confrontations, and the countdown begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to everyone who reads this. I truly hope you like to read this as much I love to write it.

_Because Jaime Lannister has fallen in love with Arya Stark._

 

Arya feels completely out of her element. She just cannot believe this and it’s almost as if it’s happening to someone else. Jaime is so tall and strong compared to her, but his lips, his tongue are so gentle. There’s no rush to his kiss, which surprises her. He’s treating her-not as if she’s fragile-but as if she’s precious, something to be treasured. The thought of that warms her through her limbs and heart.

She shivers and breaks away to look at him. Arya looks into his sharp green eyes and takes in the faint lines branching out. This close to him, she takes slightly weather worn skin and there are more strands of grey in his hair than she observed before. But she _likes_ it. Arya _likes_ the fact that he’s older and has traveled and can do all sorts of shit.

“Take me back, will you?” She says.

Jaime smiles. “As you command, my lady.”

She blushes and buries her face into his shirt collar and neck as he turns around. Squinting her eyes shut she tries to clamp down her giddy smile. She inhales the smell of his skin and grips him a little tighter.

Jaime stops halfway to where their things are, and she starts to slide out of his arms, but he’s still holding tight to her. Confused, she tilts her head back to look at him. He’s looking at her with his brows slightly furrowed, and Arya doesn’t know how his expression should be interpreted.

There’s a sudden sharp pain in her chest as if she’s been stabbed with a dull blade between her ribs. What if she hasn’t measured up somehow? What if after all this time he’s found her lacking, in her looks or how she’s kissed him? Arya blinks at him, waiting for him to say or do something.

When he does, it’s half plea, half demand. “Kiss me.”

So she does.

 

As they reach their scattered boots and balled up socks she busies herself by digging around her bag and getting a cigarette. Trying to get as comfortable as she can with half-soaked pants, she lights it as Jaime splays out next to her, hands supporting him from behind.

Arya smokes and listens as Jaime tells her more about his family- the dynamic between them she wasn’t aware of. He talks about Tyrion and Cersei, and how he had always been the fulcrum between them.

“When Cersei and I were…twelve or so, Tyrion climbed up to her bed and rubbed his butthole on her pillow case.” Arya laughs and Jaime continues, “I’m talking about cheeks pulled apart…really…getting in there. I thought it was hilarious until I wondered if he ever did that to me, right? So I asked him. Know what he said? He said ‘you’re my big brother.’ I had no idea what that meant until Cersei got pink eye, but I never did.”

Arya is laughing so hard her stomach hurts.

“Find family trauma funny, do you?”

“Cersei getting pink eye hardly sounds traumatic.”

“You don’t know her well, then.”

Once Arya catches her breath, she tells Jaime more about her brothers. “One summer, we were at our house at Acorn Water and we were wandering around- I was with Jon and Robb and Robb’s gross friend Theon who was staying with us. The only reason I was with them was because Jon said he wouldn’t go unless I could come- anyway, Theon was saying that having sex with a girl was just like sticking your dick into a Hot Pocket. I was ten, and even I knew how stupid that was. A vagina doesn’t feel like pepperoni and melted cheese.” Jaime snorts. “Well, that night we heard a scream, and everyone ran downstairs. There was Robb with like, marinara all over his crotch and a fucking Hot Pocket on the floor. I laughed so hard and so long, my mother grounded me for the next day.”

Jaime chuckles and gets a pained look on his face. “Jesus.” He reaches behind her and pulls her backpack towards him. Unzipping the small pocket he takes the pack of cigarettes out and grabs one. Arya finds that so bizarrely intimate.

“What about Sansa? You don’t really talk about her. Don’t get along?”

Arya shrugs and tells him about Sansa and her friends teasing her about being ugly and how no boy would ever want her. She smiles now at the memories. Jaime Lannister isn’t making _Jeyne Poole_ sandwiches and kissing _her_.

“I’m not talking to her now, though.” Arya says and Jaime lifts an eyebrow. “She told Jon about you, and Jon had to have a talk about it.”

Jaime looks curious. “And what was said?”

Arya dismisses it. “He just said you were old and an asshole.”

She sees he looks mildly offended-not about being called an asshole, but at being called old.

“He won’t say anything to my parents, or whatever. Neither will Sansa. If she does, she knows I’ll tell them about how she’s dating Petyr Baelish.”

Jaime coughs up smoke and looks disgusted. “Baelish? _Littlefinger_?”

“I know, right?” Arya shakes her head.

They talk a bit longer, when Arya notes Jaime’s bare feet. She scoots down a little and lines her foot with his. “You have such big feet,” she says as she leans over and runs a finger over the thin bones on the top of his foot.

“Well-“

As soon as he starts to say something, she realizes her mistake.

“Don’t say it,” She says, whipping around and pointing her finger in his face.

“What?” He asks innocently.

“I know _exactly_ what you were going to say. About having big feet and a big dick.”

Jaime smiles and grabs her finger. “Want to judge the evidence for yourself, I’m sure.” He winks, and she laughs.

 

They’ve readjusted themselves. Jaime is using Arya’s bag to lie on and her head is pillowed in the crook of his arm. She scoots closer so that she’s right up against him. Now that she’s been so close to Jaime, it’s hard to pry herself away. She’s never really shown affection physically-unless it was Jon or her father, and the feeling is new. Like now that she’s touched him, she doesn’t want to stop.

Arya closes her eyes and listens to the water and the birds and feels the warmth of Jaime next to her.

She doesn’t know how long they’ve lain there when Jaime shifts around. Arya lifts her weight up enough for him to move his arm a bit, but she still keeps her eyes closed.

It isn’t until she feels Jaime’s fingertips brush her face that she opens them. He’s propped himself on an elbow, free hand brushing hair out of her face. To see him looking down at her nearly stops her heart. Jaime is looking at her with such gentle affection; she can’t help but return it.

Is this what falling in love feels like, she wonders?

“You are,” Jaime says softly, “absolutely beautiful, Arya Stark.”

Arya’s hand travels to his shirt collar, nervously fidgeting with it. “And _you_ ,” she manages to say, “are so ridiculously handsome, it almost nauseating.”

Jaime smiles. “Nauseating?” he asks, lowering his head slightly.

“Mm,” Arya nods.

“Positively sicken you, do I?”

“Very much so,” Arya smiles back.

“I probably shouldn’t do this, then,” he says as he closes the distance between them.

This kiss isn’t the slow exploration like the others. It’s hot and heavy and unlike any other kiss she’s experienced. There’s desperation in his machinations-his tongue moves faster and she meets him willingly and with the same passion. Arya _needs_ him-needs him in all ways someone can need someone else.

She pulls him closer as his hands skim down her side and grips her waist. Unconsciously, she arches her body towards him, wanting to feel his weight on her. She bends her knee and Jaime’s hand glides down her thigh and rests at the bend of her leg. There’s a fire in her veins that travels down into the low pit of her stomach.

Arya Stark is openly offering her heart and her body to him-his for the taking-because she trusts him.

Jaime groans and breaks away to rest his forehead on hers. She takes a moment to breathe.

I think I’m in love with you, she wants to say.

“We should go before I do something completely inappropriate to you right here.” Jaime says as if it pains him.

 

Hand in hand, they walk to his car to find the man and the boy from earlier. They had parked beside Jaime, and are unloading their things into the back of the truck.

She feels Jaime pause as she says a friendly hello to them. The man smiles and returns it as Jaime tosses his things into the trunk. He motions to Arya so she rounds the car and as soon as she’s within reach, Jaime places her on top and steps between her legs. Before she can question him, he grabs her face and kisses her. She lets out a huff of surprise, but she certainly isn’t complaining. A second later he takes her hand as she hops down and escorts her to the passenger door.

“Have a good evening,” She hears Jaime say as he shuts the door.

Arya watches him as he gets into the driver side with a smirk on his face. He doesn’t look at her, instead staring at the man and boy who are staring right back at them.

What the fuck was _that_ about?

 

She learns about The Golden Lion on the drive back home.

“All of it? On a _casino_?” Arya asks disbelieving. “Like… old people, and buffets, and slot machines? Joffrey is stupider than I thought.”

“Robert wasn’t any smarter.” Jaime says. “I almost feel bad for my sister. She married him right out of high school and hasn’t ever worked or went to college, or anything. The only income she had was through Robert.”

Arya frowns. “You’re _Lannisters_. What about your father? Didn’t he leave you anything?”

Jaime sighs and runs a hand over his face. “His personal affects are caught up in some federal investigation-all those assets are frozen for now. Tyrion and I are the only ones who are on the board for Casterly Industries, which is where the bulk of our income comes from- Cersei never really cared or paid attention.” He stops and thinks for a moment. “That’s not entirely true. _I_ never really cared or paid attention. I suppose I should thank my father for making the choice for me.”

“Would you be mad at me if I said Cersei being destitute is hilarious?”

 

That night, after she runs upstairs- giving some quick excuse that she’d spent the day with Hot Pie and her other friend Lommy- she begins to unpack her bag. As she digs, her hands come across paper. Puzzled, she pulls it out. It’s the target sheet folded up.

Jaime must have slipped it in there unnoticed. Arya bites her lip and sits slowly on her bed as she gingerly unfolds it. She wipes her nose with the back of her finger and stares at the bull’s eye. How in the world did Jaime know she’d want this?

 

* * *

 

Jaime enters the Quill & Tankard and spies Tyrion in a booth. He nods to the hostess and joins his brother.

“Korean frozen food?” Jaime asks as he sits amongst the dark wood paneling and hanging stained glass light fixtures.

“You signed the papers. I assumed you read them.” Tyrion says, waving the waitress over.

Clearing his throat, Jaime lamely admits to _sort of_ reading them. Skimming would be more accurate. He picks up a menu to avoid Tyrion’s gaze.

“If you would have read it, you’d know how beneficial the acquisition is.”

“Casterly is _shipping_ and _mining_ , for fuck’s sake. Explain to me how it’s beneficial to acquire a _Korean frozen food company_.”

“Diversification,” Tyrion answers before ordering another pint.

Jaime looks up to find the waitress in a tight white button up shirt and small black apron. “I’ll have a pint of whatever he’s having,” he says absently gesturing to Tyrion before turning to the menu again.

“You sure?”

Jaime looks up again, and the waitress is still there. Her tablet is curled up in one arm, and a hand is braced on the table as she leans down towards him. “We’ve got a lot of drink specials…maybe a cocktail?”

She’s using what he thinks is her version of a sultry voice and he squints his eyes. She may as well be twirling her hair and batting her eyelashes. He plasters on his most polite smile. “No, thank you. Just the pint.”

She smiles at him and leaves and Tyrion fixes him with a glare. “Sometimes I really hate being your brother.”

“You’re welcome to her,” Jaime says, not even remotely interested.

“I tried calling on Saturday to discuss it with you. It was the only free day I had, and I couldn’t get ahold of you all day.”

The waitress comes back with their drinks, and she actually _winks_ at Jaime-which he fully ignores. “Saturday? I was up on St. Aegon’s with Arya-“ he catches himself and takes a drink. Fuck.

“Arya Stark?” Tyrion says. “I see. And what were you two doing? Working on that _project_ of yours?”

Jaime continues drinking what he now discovers is a very hoppy IPA and lowers it after finishing more than half. He looks at his brother, trying to read him.

“No,” He says carefully. “She wants to learn to shoot and I can teach her. So I did.”

“Mm. There’s at least a few target ranges in the city, I’m sure. Was there a reason you two had to go traipsing out all that way?”

“Are you trying to say something?”

Tyrion takes a drink. “I was just wondering if we’d find your name on a neighborhood offender registry sometime soon.” It’s said with a smile, but Jaime can tell he’s only half kidding.

Jaime’s hands shake with a rush of anger and he takes a deep breath. With a tilt of his head, he finishes his drink and slams it down on the table.

“ _Don’t joke about that shit_ , _Tyrion_.” He’s angrier at his little brother than he had been in years. The implication somehow sullies how he feels about Arya- about how they feel about _each other_. As if in its unconventionality, it’s automatically wrong. And it isn’t. Not to him and not to her.

Jaime stands up to leave and Tyrion objects. “Jaime, Jaime. Okay, I’m sorry, alright?”

Jaime sighs and slumps back down and buries his face in his hands. “Help me understand then,” he hears. He drops his hands, and Tyrion really does look chastised.

“I don’t know if I can,” Jaime says helplessly. “Arya…” he runs through a list of adjectives in his mind and thinks of kissing her and he’s completely unaware of the smile on his face.

“You can’t help who you love,” Tyrion says as he watches him thoughtfully. “I know that more than anyone. Is that what this is, Jaime? Are you…do you love her?”

Jaime looks sharply at Tyrion. “Yes,” he answers simply.

Tyrion nods. “And it’s mutual?”

“It is.” At least Jaime thinks so-to some degree anyway.

Tyrion takes in his brother for a long moment before slamming both hands on the tabletop, “Well then. Why so glum, brother? Love is a rare and precious thing. Let’s celebrate both Lannister brothers finding our better halves. I’m asking Shae to move in with me.”

Jaime raises his eyebrows in surprise.

They toast each other with the most expensive bourbon the Quill &Tankard carries.

 

On the second round, Tyrion says, “Did you hear? About Edric Storm?”

“Who?”

Tyrion rolls his eyes as Jaime lights a cigarette and signals the waitress for an ashtray. “ _Edric Storm_. One of Robert’s illegitimate children. And when did you start smoking again?”

Jaime ignores the question about smoking, instead thinking about Edric Storm. He knows that name and vaguely remembers reference to him during Cersei and Robert’s fights. He takes a drink.

“Joffrey’s age?” Jaime asks.

Tyrion raises his glass. “Right after they got married. Robert went out of town to Storm’s End- had sex with that Florent girl-“

“-That’s right-“ Jaime interrupts.

“-Selyse’s cousin or aunt or something. Well, they found poor Edric washed ashore near Storm’s End with a bullet hole in his head,” Tyrion finishes grimly.

 

* * *

Jaime opens the front door of his sister’s house with a resolve he’s only felt when he faced combat the first time. Clutching a bottle of wine he sighs.

He finds everyone already at the table in the formal dining room, and much to his dismay, it’s only his sister, brother, Joffrey, and Joffrey’s fiancé Margaery. So much for having other people there for distraction. Jaime takes a seat next to Tyrion and his brother has an apologetic look.

“Glad you’ve finally graced us with your presence,” Cersei says from the head of the table.

Jaime ignores that, attempting to be polite. “Joffrey,” he nods. “Lovely to see you Margaery.”

“I’m so pleased you could join us, Jaime,” Margaery says with a bright smile. Turning to Joffrey, she pats his leg. “Isn’t it, love? It’s been ages-“

“Yes, yes. Can we eat now?” Joffrey drawls. “I would literally rather be anywhere else but here.” At least that’s one thing Jaime thinks they can all agree on.

Margaery begins to playfully scold him for his rudeness as Cersei gets up to signal the maid to start serving.

Jaime sits and watches the help do Cersei’s bidding, and he chuckles. What on earth is she going to do without constantly being waited on?

“Something funny, dear brother?” Cersei asks, wine glass clutched in her hand.

“Hm? No, I was just admiring this lamb. Cook it yourself, did you? Looks marvelous.”

“You can’t be serious,” Joffrey snorts. “I’d be shocked if Mother knew how to turn _on_ a stove. Now Margaery here is an excellent baker, aren’t you my darling? Pies, cookies, cakes-“

“Tarts?” Cersei asks from behind her glass.

Tyrion coughs into his napkin and Margaery’s smile grows even wider. “Of course. Why, I happen to have an excellent recipe for cherry tarts. Perhaps I’ll send some to you. I’m sure _you_ have an appreciation.” At that Margaery takes the open bottle of wine and pours more into Joffrey’s glass, then leans over offering Jaime and Tyrion a refill before placing the bottle directly in front of Cersei’s plate.

The look Cersei gives her could melt steel.

The sit awkwardly at the table without conversation, Cersei and Tyrion doing more drinking than eating. Jaime occasionally glances up at Joffrey attempting to conjure up some sort of feeling for him. Even just looking for a sliver of emotional attachment to the boy, he finds none because all he can picture is him beating Sansa Stark so badly that she miscarried.

Vile little shit.

Tyrion clears his throat. “So Joffrey. I hear you’re taking a break from the rigors of academia.”

“I’m not _taking a break_. I’m not going back. It’s not like I need it. I’ve got the girl,” he says looking Margaery up and down, “and I have all the money I need. Why would I waste my time with all that useless shit?”

“Speaking of money,” Tyrion says, “what’s this I hear about a casino?”

Jaime sits back and crosses his arms.

“I’m building a legacy,” Joffrey says stupidly.

“A legacy in _New Jersey_?” Jaime asks. “Was that Robert’s idea or yours?”

“Father never specified. But Varys tells me that there’s unlimited potential in Atlantic City, and Marg loves the seaside-“

“You love the _New Jersey seaside_?”

Margaery looks down at her plate, slightly embarrassed. “Well, no-“

“And what do you care, Uncle Jaime?” Joffrey scoffs and downs the rest of the glass in hand. “Jealous? I’m creating an empire and you’re what? An old, washed up ex-soldier with no wife, no girlfriend, no career.” He points his fork at Jaime and says lowly, “If you’re lucky, maybe I’ll hire you as a valet-or maybe even a security guard.”

Jaime tilts his head and smiles. “You’re absolutely correct. I’m green with envy that my _empire_ isn’t built on old people, buffets, and slot machines.” He says, repeating Arya’s words.

“What?” Joffrey says loudly, clearly offended. “I’ll have you know it’s not going to be one of those pathetic-“

“Joffrey, that’s enough.” Cersei gently chides.

“-Indian reservation casinos. It’s high-end. Only the wealthiest-“

“It’s splendid,” Margaery volunteers, trying to placate her fiancé. “It’s only halfway finished, but by August it’ll be quite the sight. Just in time for Labor Day too.”

Cersei glares at Margaery as Tyrion asks about gaming licensure. “The process is long and rigorous as far as I understand it. How did you manage to get one so quickly?”

“Easy,” Joffrey answers as if it’s a ridiculous question. “The right money in the right hands. When that failed, Father taught me that intimidation can be a powerful weapon.”

“Intimidation?” Tyrion raises an eyebrow.

“The Clegane brothers. They’re working for me now.”

“Those two are stupid and dangerous- criminals who are nothing but up jumped bag men.“ Tyrion says incredulously.

“They worked for Father for many years.” Cersei replies. “They were loyal to him, and I’m sure-“

“They’re loyal to me now,” Joffrey brags. “They both do what _I_ say. Matter of fact, Gregor is on a job for me-“

“ _Joffrey_.” Cersei hisses. “Come help me in the kitchen.” She stands up and tosses her napkin on the table.

“ _No,_ Mother. I don’t want-“

“ _Now_.”

Joffrey sullenly throws his own napkin on the table and stomps after his mother.

Jaime finishes his glass of wine, thinking of excuses to leave early, when Margaery leans over the table conspiratorially.

“So Jaime, if it’s true you’re not dating anyone, I actually know a couple of women I think you’d be interested in meeting. Both are absolutely _gorgeous,_ sophisticated, and well travelled…perhaps I could pass along your number?”

Jaime looks at her wide-eyed, completely caught off guard. “Me? Oh, um. I _am_ seeing someone actually.” He coughs and scratches his temple. “We’re dating…her and I-well I mean we’re together…”

“ _Really_?” Margaery sounds delighted. “Is it serious? Will you be bringing her around to the family soon?”

“Around?” Jaime says startled. “ _Here_?”

“I’ve met her,” Tyrion says, looking sideways at Jaime. “And she is a lovely girl. I do believe I’ve known her…well, _her entire life_ , you could say.”

Jaime has the urge to kick his brother under the table with that little remark, but instead pushes his chair back. “Anyone need more wine? Because I certainly do.”

He walks through the hall towards the kitchen, hoping his sister had some sort of alcohol in there. He wasn’t about to wander through the wine cellar that she had insisted Robert put it, but if he was going to stay any longer he was going to need at least a few more drinks.

When his hand is on the swinging kitchen door he hears Joffrey’s voice. Jaime goes to push it open, but stops.

“-I didn’t say what Clegane was doing.” Joffrey says.

“No, but you were treading on some very thin ice back there.” His mother answers. “What do you think will happen if this comes out, hm? I’ve managed to protect to once, I don’t know if I can do it again.”

“You don’t need to _protect_ me from anything. And who is going to find out anyway? Would anyone even care?”

“The police will care,” Cersei says harshly. “The mothers of those dead bastards will care. Need I go on?”

“ _You’re_ the one who told me who they were. I don’t know why you’re throwing such a fit about it. I’m protecting what’s _mine_. So what if there are a few less money-grubbing children in the world? That’s you’re fault, Mother. If you would have been a better wife to Father, he wouldn’t have to find it somewhere else-“

Oh my God, Jaime thinks.

Suddenly, it all falls into place.  

He pales and feels his heart drop into his stomach. The news articles…those dead kids with black hair and blue eyes... That’s why he noted it in the back of his mind. Because Jaime knew, didn’t he? He’s known all along. If he would have been smarter, or quicker…

 _Robert’s dead children_.

The suffocated baby, those twins with the smashed skulls, the girl on the bike, the boy, Edric Storm with a bullet in his head.

It was Joffrey.

 

He backs away from the door and wipes a hand over his face. Without thinking he stumbles out the front door without saying anything to anyone.

Jaime gets inside his car, but his hands are shaking so badly he can’t manage to start it. He grips the steering wheel and forces himself to take deep breaths. Once he’s calmed himself, he peels out of the driveway.

 _The baby, the twins, the girl, the boy_. He repeats it in his head like a mantra.

 _The baby, the twins, the girl, the boy_.

Thoughts are bouncing around in his head as he drives a little recklessly, and he can’t parcel them out into coherency. He needs to calm the fuck down.

 _The baby, the twins, the girl, the boy_.

Arya. He needs Arya because she understands. Jaime can tell her all this and she’ll believe him. Because she _knows_.

Jaime speeds through town towards Winterfell.

 

* * *

“Hey.”

“Can you come out? I need…can I come get you?” Jaime sounds rushed or panicked, and Arya looks around to see if her brothers are paying any attention to her.

“Now?” Her and Bran were taking turns playing GTA V while Rickon is sprawled out on the floor with Legos. “Is…is everything okay?”

“I need to see you. There’s something-look I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Arya frowns. “Yeah. Alright. I’ll be outside.” She hangs up and stares down at her phone for a second. “Bran, tell Mother I’m going out. I’ll be back by curfew.”

“Out where?”

“Er, with Lommy. So just tell her if she asks, okay?” She runs up the stairs to throw her shoes on a grab a sweater. Running fingers through her hair, she snatches her bag and tosses it onto her shoulder.

The second she reaches the sidewalk Jaime comes to a screeching halt in front of her. He doesn’t look at her when she gets in and the door is barely shut before he peels away.

Arya looks over at him as she buckles up. He’s pale and his jaw is clenched, knuckles white on the steering wheel. The tension is coming off him in waves and she can almost physically feel it.

“Jaime?”

The far off look in his eyes tells her he doesn’t hear her.

“ _Jaime_ ,” she repeats. “What it is? What’s wrong?”

“You were right,” Jaime answers cryptically, voice cracking.

His demeanor is enough to send cold fear into her bones. “Right? Right about what?”

Jaime doesn’t say.

 

And he continues not to say anything as they enter his apartment where he goes straight to the bar. Arya had enough time to run through all the scenarios she could think of that would cause him to behave this way-and she comes up with nothing. She takes him in, he doesn’t look hurt, or anything, and she’s at a complete loss.

Jaime clinks two glasses down on the kitchen island with such force, she expected them to break. Grabbing a bottle at random, he pours it into the glasses and slides one down the island countertop, but she ignores it.

Arya watches as Jaime drinks his in one go and fills it up again. She’s about to open her mouth when with frightening speed, he throws his glass against the fireplace where it shatters in a mess of crystal and alcohol.

She jumps. “What the fuck is going on?” She demands. “ _Tell me right fucking now_.”

Jaime leans on the counter with both hands and finally looks at her. “You were right. I should have let you kill Joffrey.”

Her own mind is a jumble, and she tries shaking it to clear it. “…What? Why?”

“Joffrey…he had five people murdered. Five children.”

Arya feels the color drain out of her own face. There are a thousand questions she has, but instead of trying to straighten it all out, she just asks him to start at the beginning.

They sit facing each other in the dining room chairs. Jaime’s fidgeting with her hands, and he’s not looking at her as he explains.

“After Robert died, Joffrey hired someone to kill his illegitimate children so they won’t come around asking for any of the inheritance, I think. Or maybe try and take him to court, or who fucking knows.” He sighs. “I only had a vague idea of who these kids were, but Cersei…Cersei knew. Cersei knew who they were and that’s how Joffrey knew who to target.”

She fights the urge to speak, letting Jaime say everything he needs to.

When he continues, it’s in a harsh whisper more to himself than to her. “Five _children_ , and I could have stopped it if I realized it sooner. But I didn’t. I should have left you alone and you would have taken care of it but I stopped you. I was so stupid to think-“

“ _Don’t_ ,” Arya says, unable to stay quiet. “Look at me, Jaime.” When he does, there’s such a stricken look on his face, it breaks her heart. “Don’t fucking think that. You were right. If I would have tried to kill Joffrey then I would’ve been caught. And you couldn’t have known what he was going to do-neither of us could. So, I don’t want to hear it.”

She searches his face to ensure he’s listening to her. “And don’t you _fucking dare_ think either of us would have been better off if you left me alone. You told me that we’d think of something together, remember? Then we do. Now. You and I will get rid of Joffrey once and for all, and he’ll never hurt anyone ever again.”

Jaime loses the pained look on his face. He’s already come to that conclusion, but wasn’t willing to say it out loud, she knows. That’s okay, because she is.

Arya feels herself being pulled into his lap, and she lets him. Draping her legs over his, she pulls his head into her chest as his hands grip her firmly. She closes her eyes and rests her face on the top of his head.

Oh Jaime, I’m so sorry, she thinks. You’re too good. Too good for Cersei, too good for Joffrey, and I love you all the more for it. Because I do, don’t I?

“I’m in love with you,” she whispers. His hands stop moving and she realizes she’d just said that out loud. Arya stops breathing and slowly opens her eyes.

Oh no. How could she possibly be so stupid? Of all the terrible times she could have said it, it’s _now_?

Jaime carefully extracts himself enough to lift his face to her. She tries to school her terrified expression at her own confession, while trying to think of something to say. But she doesn’t get the chance because his hands gently cradle her face.

“I…I am so fucking in love with you,” he says and pulls her in for a kiss.

Arya doesn’t have time to relish in his words or his mouth because there’s a sharp knock on his front door, followed by the sound of it opening.

* * *

 

 Arya slides off his lap and stands just in time to see who it is. He stands up behind her, and his face falls.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Arya grits out. She moves to stand in front of Jaime, as if she’s shielding him.

“I could ask you the very same thing.” Cersei gives her a cold smile, “Is that Arya Stark?” She darts her eyes to Jaime. “Seems as though I’m interrupting something. Is that why you left so quickly, Jaime?”

He doesn’t get a chance to answer, because Arya does for him. “What is it that you want?” Jaime pinches her sweater and pulls until she’s pressed against him. He can just feel her anger vibrating through her.

“To speak to my brother,” Cersei answers with anger of her own.

Jaime places a hand on Arya’s shoulder. “Give us a minute, Arya” he says, though his eyes never leave his sister’s face. He can tell she looking up at him, unhappy with the request. Grabbing her drink, she goes to sit on the balcony.

Cersei watches Arya and an amused smile graces her face. “Really? Tyrion with his whores and you with…children? What would Father say about the degeneracy running rampant through his family?”

“Not much of anything,” Jaime says plainly. “Considering he’s rotting in the ground. Now tell me how you got past security and why you’re here.”

She clasps her hands in front of her and saunters up carefully stepping around the shards of crystal until she’s a foot away. “Does it matter how I got up here?  You just left, without saying anything to anybody. I was worried about you, dear brother.” She’s giving him that doe-eyed look he’s so familiar with and he wants to strangle her.

This woman- _his twin_ -is responsible for the death of five innocent human beings. He contemplates telling her what he knows, debates confronting her with the information, but decides not to. Not yet anyway.

“Worried?” He says sarcastically. “You are just too thoughtful, coming all the way here. As you can see, I’m well taken care of,” he motions to the patio.

Cersei barks out a harsh laugh. “She’s a _child_ , Jaime.”

“Is she? I wouldn’t say so.” He says dismissively. Now he regrets throwing that drink, since he could really use it now. That was from a $200 bottle of Glenfarclas he wasted.

Jaime finds a glass and pours himself another, effectively ignoring his sister. He can tell she’s staring at him, and after he takes a sip, he looks up at her, acting as though he’s surprised she’s still there.

“Was there anything else?” He asks lightly.

Cersei narrows her eyes and cocks her head. “I _do_ wonder what Eddard and Catelyn would think when they find out you’re defiling their precious daughter.”

Jaime drains the glass and carefully puts it down, toying with it for a moment. “I don’t know. Perhaps the same thing when they find out your son beat Sansa so badly that she lost a baby, and you covered it up.”

“I wish you the best of luck finding proof of that,” she says. “But this,” she waves a hand between Jaime and where Arya is outside, “ _this_ is happening right under their noses.”

He nods slowly, as if thinking on her words as he closes the distance between them. “They won’t find out.”

“Is that right?” Cersei smiles. “I’m certain they will. I’m also certain the police will be chomping at the bit to catch a sexual deviant.”

Jaime smiles and grabs Cersei by the upper arms and yanks her so closely that he whispers in her ear, “You aren’t going to the police or Arya’s parents. Do you want to know why?” Her body has gone rigid, and he knows he has her attention. “Because if you do, I _will not hesitate_ to go to the police myself and inform them that my sweet sister helped her son murder children.”

His nails dig into her arms as he pulls back enough to look at her. “Do you understand me?”

Her face shows a mixture of shock, anger, fear. “ _Let go of me.”_

“Do you understand me?” He repeats.

“ _Yes_ ,” she says through gritted teeth and jerks herself away.

“Good. Now get out of my house.”

She turns to leave “Oh Cersei?” Jaime says as a thought occurs to him. “If anything happens to Arya, or any other Stark, I’ll know it was you. If anything happens at all, I _will_ kill you.”

“Of course, Humbert. Say goodbye to little Dolores for me.”

 

* * *

 

Arya turns around at the sound of the door opening to find Jaime staring at her.

“What did she want?” She asks tentatively.

He stalks up to her so quickly without saying anything, it almost scares her. “Jaime?”

He lifts her up and she has no choice but to wrap her legs around him. “Before we were interrupted, I do believe I was declaring my love for you.”

“-oh-“

“Tell me,” he says seriously. “Tell me again that-“

“I _love you_ , Jaime.” Arya looks directly into his green eyes, no longer embarrassed.

“Truly?”

“ _Yes, truly_. I wouldn’t ever lie about that. What did she say to you?”

Jaime lowers her slowly but his hands don’t leave her waist, and her arms don’t leave his neck. “She said a lot. I just want you to know, Arya, that I don’t give a shit what anyone thinks about us. Because we’re together, right?”

She’s speechless. Does he mean that he’s _with_ her? Like as in…

“You...want to be with me?  Only me?”

“ _Yes_ ,” He says impatiently. “You’re mine and I’m all yours. Just us-fuck everybody else.”

“Good.” She says, catching his eye. “Because I thought of something,” she smiles sweetly at him. “We’ll blow it up.”

“Blow… _blow what_ up?”

“The Golden Lion. We blow The Golden Lion up with Joffrey inside.”

 

**_4 months, 11 days, 12 hours and 39 minutes remain._ **

 

" />

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for this chapter being all over the place. It took me awhile, because I am still unsure about my characterizations of Joff and Cersei.
> 
> If you weren't aware, Cersei's reference to Humbert and Dolores is from Nabokov's 'Lolita' 
> 
>  
> 
> Feel free to share your thoughts.


	6. 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans, calculations, a date, and everything starts to come together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for everyones kind words and I apologize for how long this chapter is.

**_4 months, 11 days, 12 hours and 10 minutes remain._ **

****

“It makes sense, right?” Arya sits on Jaime’s kitchen counter, eyes bright and excited. “Because anything else we try, Cersei’s going to at least suspect somebody close to Joffrey-especially now that she knows that _you know_ about what he’s done.”

“It’s actually a good idea.” Jaime’s leaning against the opposite counter, fist balled under his chin. “And something as big as a literal explosion would deflect any suspicion.”

Arya watches him think, eyes focused on the floor at his feet.

His head darts up. “Ransom.”

“Ransom?”

“It’s one thing to just blow up a building- what would the motive be?” He pushes himself off and stands in front of her and braces his hands on either side of her hips. “If there’s a ransom note, then there’s reasoning behind it-“

“Of course,” she says. “You’re fucking brilliant, Jaime. A diversion or a distraction. A ransom note to say…like, leave whatever amount of money wherever and we’ll diffuse the bomb but-”

“We blow it up anyway,” Jaime finishes.

Arya grins at him, gives him a quick peck on the lips, and pushes off the counter, forcing him to step backwards. He gives a little pout before crossing his arms across his chest as Arya makes her way to his refrigerator.

“I tell you that I love you an hour ago, and you think that gives you refrigerator privileges?”

“Oh please.” Arya answers as she ducks her head in. There’s almost nothing in there but protein drinks and a container of tahini. “I tell _you_ that I love _you_ an hour ago, and I think that means I’ve earned meal privileges.” She stands on her toes and peeks into his freezer. “If you actually have any food.”

She spies a bowl of fruit on the far end of the counter and grabs an apple before leaning next to him.

“What about incendiary? Or wait, do you know how to build a bomb? I mean I guess we could look it up.” She takes a bite and looks up at him.

“I suppose I do have a sort of…” he hesitates, “working, rudimentary knowledge of explosives. I’ve dealt with plenty of amateur bombs- homemade ones that can do a shocking amount of damage. I’ll figure that part out.” Jaime stares off into the distance, thinking. “As far as what we’ll use, we need to know what we’re dealing with. I have no idea how big the casino is going to be, and that’s something we need to know-that’s how we plan for how big the thing will be and where to place it.”

“What about wildfire?” Arya asks through a mouthful of apple. “It won’t matter how big that stupid casino is-plus, we won’t need as much of it as we would anything else, like if you used dynamite.”

Jaime gives her a considering look. “That’s true, but it’s fairly regulated. Where would we even find some?” He reaches for her wrist with the apple and lifts her hand up to his mouth for a bite.

A moment of clarity washes over her. “ _Mining_.” She says and grips his elbow. “Sam said they still use it for mining and drilling. You’re _Lannisters._ You _own_ mines, right?”

He smiles down at her, and motions to follow him.

She leaves her half eaten apple on the counter and wipes her fingertips on her jeans as goes to follow him up the staircase. She’s never been up here before, and she’s curious.

“Who’s Sam?” Jaime asks her a little too casually. Arya can sense there’s a hitch in his voice, maybe a little jealousy.

“Jon’s friend from school,” she answers, smiling at his back as they ascend.

The second story is a sort of loft-bedroom. Arya tries to take as much in as she can without gawking. It has the same modern, wealthy bachelor theme as the rest of the house and the only thing in disarray is a couple of dress shirts draped on the back of an armchair and the bed covers turned down. The bed is huge, and she tries to picture him in it- and there’s an impulse to crawl into it and lay her head on his pillow to see if it smells like him.

Arya is struck with jealousy of her own when a stray thought has her wondering how many women he’s had in this bed. She knows she’s being stupid about it. He’s twenty years older than her, so _of course_ he’s probably been with dozens of women. Women who are taller and probably look and dress like models and certainly not teenagers that play video games and still ride the bus-

“Arya.”

“Huh? Oh.” She follows his voice to a room off the bedroom that serves as an office. Jaime’s laptop is open and he’s sitting at the desk, typing. She moves to join him, but is distracted by the photographs and medals framed on the wall. It’s the only personal things she’d seen in his house.

There’s pictures of him with what she assumes are Marine buddies, one of him in full gear, and one of a very young Jaime in his dress blues where he appears hardly older than her now. He was handsome then, but when she peers over her shoulder where he sits, she finds this Jaime much more attractive.

Looking at him now, Arya smiles. Who cares how many women came before her? He’s with her now, right?

Jaime tugs her waist when she leans down to see what he’s looking at, and she perches herself on his knee.

“I can’t find anything,” he sighs as he threads his arm through hers to type around her. “Just one news article from the local paper, and it’s a paragraph at best. And it only really mentions who Joffrey is and the name of the place.”

Arya taps her foot. “Maps?”

He shrugs and searches the city, then the strip and they both groan. It could literally be _anywhere_ , and although the chances are it’s on the main thoroughfare, there’s nothing to point them in the right direction.

“Maybe I can get the blue prints from Baelish,” Jaime says tapping his fingers on the desk. “He’d at least know where to find them-I suppose it’s useful anyway.” He wraps his arm around her middle keeping her in place and leans forward to type with one hand.

A map of some sort pops up on the screen with the Casterly Industries lion’s head logo.

“What’s this?”

“It’s a map of all current functioning mines,” Jaime says. “Wildfire is perfect…so now we need to find out how to get our hands on some.”

He clicks around and mutters to himself. “It’s only used for excavation, so it’d have to be one in constant use… _Rosby_.”

“The closest one is Rosby? That’s what, two hours away?”

He nods slowly, and she can tell he’s thinking. Arya darts her eyes to the ceiling, thinking of anything she’s missing at the moment. If they use wildfire, they need to know how much to use…

“I’ll calculate the energy released for…one pound of wildfire per square foot. Then, when we know how big The Golden Lion’s going to be… we can just multiply that by square footage I think,” she says more to the ceiling than to Jaime. “That way, we won’t waste our time getting more than we need, or have to get more if we don’t get enough.”

She didn’t realize he’d pushed away from the desk and is staring at her, amused look on his face.

“What?”

“We are,” he smiles, “an amazing team.”

He’s right. Arya hasn’t felt this confident or sure of herself in ages. For the first time, she’s on equal footing with someone. Someone she’s not related to that takes her seriously-has trust in her abilities and ideas.

She scoots around on his lap enough to place her hands on his face. Arya feels fucking lucky to have him-of all the people in the world. Together, they can be unstoppable.

“Are we really doing this?” She whispers.

“You and I together? We can do anything.” He says, echoing her thoughts.

Arya kisses him on the lips before getting up. Placing her hands on her hips, she takes a breath. “Okay, so you’ll go to Petyr Baelish for blue prints, and I’ll start the calculations. Once we know how much we need we can go down to Rosby and…”

“And at least start on the paper trail. There’s records for shipments, so that’s next.”

 

As they make their way towards the staircase, Arya spies his dresser. Overwhelming curiosity move her feet towards it. There are a couple pairs of sunglasses, a watch, and an open wooden box with cufflinks and tiepins. Despite her knowing Jaime as much as she does, she’s unaware of the inner-workings of his daily life.

She picks up a tiepin adorned with a lion’s head and lifts it up to examine it.

“And what are you doing?” She jumps when his arms wrap around her from behind.

Arya is mortified as she meets his eyes in the mirror reflection. “Sorry-I…was just looking.” She clears her throat and puts the tiepin back in the box. Oh man. She just couldn’t help herself, could she?

“I don’t mind,” he says easily, resting his chin on the top of her head. Jaime reaches down around her and grabs a pair of sunglasses and uses the reflection to carefully place them on Arya’s nose, then grabs the other pair and puts them on.

“There. Now we look like proper badass criminals.” He nods and hugs her tighter.

She laughs. “Fuck yeah, we do. This should be our signature- what we wear when we move on to robbing banks.”

Jaime scoffs. “ _Robbing banks_? This is me and you we’re talking about. Aim higher. I’m thinking….international art thieves or maybe we plan jewel heists.”

“You are a man after my own heart,” she jokes as she pulls the glasses off. Folding them up, she notes the brand. Her eyes widen a bit before carefully placing them back on his dresser.

He takes his glasses off and tosses them carelessly. “What are you doing Friday?”

“Friday?” What _is_ she doing? Plotting Joffrey’s murder, fighting with Bran, ignoring Sansa, avoiding her parents. “Nothing. Why?”

“Because,” he says kissing the top of her head, “I want to take you out,” he kisses her shoulder, “on a date.”

The proposition flusters her. “A _date_?” She says, trying to hide her confusion.

A low chuckle escapes his throat. “Yes a date. I’m sure you’ve heard of it.”

“Obviously. It’s just…” She bites her lip. Arya’s having a hard time articulating why him asking her out on a date is throwing her off. Everything they’ve done, all the time they’ve spent together was always clandestine in nature.

Arya turns to face him properly. “In public,” she clarifies, “with me?” His reputation is at risk if they’re found out- but really it’s about _Jaime Lannister_ being seen with _her_ , and not some gorgeous, well-bred society woman _._

Jaime stops and considers her quietly, running his eyes over her face, trying to read her. She can’t look directly at him, afraid her insecurities are entirely too obvious- despite what she told herself earlier.

“Do you think…what? That for some reason I wouldn’t want to be seen with you?” His face is laced with bewilderment.

She shrugs both shoulders and he takes her hand and leads her to the edge of his bed.

Sitting next to her his finger tips her chin so that she’ll look at him. “I stand by what I said when I told you I don’t give a shit about what anyone else thinks. And even if I _did_ \- how could you possibly think _anyone_ would be ashamed of you? You’re beautiful, you’re smart, and you’re so fucking _good_.” Jaime pauses and Arya can see how serious he is. “Any man would be proud to have you on his arm and _I’m_ the man that is lucky enough to say that. Understand?”

Arya sniffs and scratches her eye, willing her heart to slow down. Jaime’s never lied to her, never _would_ lie to her, and she’s a little awe-struck at his words. She gives him a shy smile.

“Good.” He says cheerfully, rubbing his hands together. “Now, Arya Stark. Will you please let me take you on a date, _in public_ , to a fancy restaurant where I can show you off?”

She rolls her eyes and shoves him.

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes.”

The next thing she knows, she’s literally being tossed into the air, further onto his bed. She lands with shocked giggle and he plants himself above her, hands on either side of her head.

“Since that’s squared away, will you please kiss me?”

Arya pulls him down and instinctually brings her knees up and spreads her legs. Jaime settles himself between them and rests on an elbow, other hand stroking her hair.

He kisses his way down her face to her neck, as she raises her hips and hears Jaime take a sharp breath and then…he stops.

He collapses with his full weight on top of her. “What,” he mumbles weakly into her shoulder, “is that?”

Arya blinks herself into focus. What was what?

Then she feels it and hears it simultaneously. The vibrating of her phone from her back pocket and the muffled sound of an alarm. She attempts to nudge him off of her, but he’s not budging.

“Jaime,” she huffs, but he’s still not moving. She manages to wedge a hand under her and wiggle the phone out of her pocket, alarm growing louder as she holds it above her head. “Fuck. I’ve got to go. I need to be home by curfew.”

He sighs, and brings himself up enough to look at her. “One of these days, I’m going to have you all to myself. No distractions, no interruptions. Do I make myself clear?”

“That,” she says slamming the phone down on his bed, “is a really, _really_ good idea.”

“Can I give you a ride?”

“I thought that’s what I was trying to do.”

“You wicked little thing,” Jaime says as he gets up and pulls her by the hand.

“Isn’t that why you love me?”

He swats her on the ass, herding her towards the staircase.

 

Arya throws the half eaten apple away when Jaime tells her he has something for her. He disappears down a hallway and comes back out with his hands behind his back.

“I was waiting until we committed our first felony together before I gave you this.”

Arya goes to step closer to him, avoiding the glass. He flings something at her and she catches it.

“Did you really buy this for me?” Arya asks, disbelieving. She turns it over in her hands and can’t help but grin at him.

“It’s a 1954 Vincent 998cc White Shadow Series-C. Do you think I let _anyone_ ride it? You’re the only one who has, and the only one that will.” Jaime walks up to her and takes the helmet out of her hands. “You said I should buy another one. So I did.”

* * *

 

**_4 months, 10 days, 1 hour, 17 minutes_ **

“Thanks for seeing me on such short notice.”

“I live to serve. Especially the Lannisters. ” Baelish says motioning him to have a seat.

Jaime clears his throat. “Well, we’ve had you on retainer for years now, and I know you’re the man to go to if I needed something or maybe had some questions.”

“Of course.”

“This whole casino thing,” Jaime waves as if it’s ridiculous, “I’m worried about Joffrey- I don’t trust his judgment on…well anything really. I was hoping you could get me the blue prints for it. You know, I just want to have a man of mine take a look. Make sure everything is up to par.”

“Is that so?” Baelish smiles. “I’m afraid I don’t have those- I’m just the lawyer, after all, not the architect. And I do believe it’s near completion at this point in time.”

“But you can get them, I’m sure,” Jaime says, trying to appease his ego. “Ample compensation is promised.”

Petyr Baelish considers him. “I’m afraid I can’t,” he says apologetically. “I’m sorry,”

Jaime eyes him. “Can’t or won’t?”

Baelish just shrugs.

Jaime decides to switch tactics. He rises out of his seat and places both hands on the desk and leans over.

“You can, Littlefinger, and you will. Your old friend Cat Tully would be positively horrified to find out her dear friend Petyr Baelish is fucking her daughter.” Jaime doesn’t like doing this-he doesn’t give a shit what Baelish does or not, but he needs those blue prints.

Baelish narrows his eyes and chuckles. “I _am_ aware that I’m not the only one with an affinity for Stark girls. The difference for me is,” he gets up and matches Jaime’s stance, “ _my_ Stark girl is of age.”

Irritating little asshole. “Do you think that will stop Ned Stark from placing you on the business end of his hunting rifle?”

Baelish looks at him for a moment before sitting down again. Raising an eyebrow he asks, “Just how much compensation are we talking about here?”

“Bill me.”

“Believe me, I will.” Taking a deep breath, Baelish leans back. “I’ll have them sent to you, and I trust our personal romantic entanglements will remain just that. Personal.”

Jaime agrees and turns to leave, but stops. “Out of curiosity…The Golden Lion’s insurance policy-who’s listed if something happens to it? Fire? Flood? Act of God? Aside from Joffrey, that is.”

“That’s a breach of confidentiality.” Baelish says half -heartedly.

“Add it to the bill.”

“You mustn’t let Cersei know that it’s Margaery Tyrell.”

Jaime smiles. Perfect.

* * *

 

Arya has run through every equation she thinks could apply, and the answers are wildly inaccurate. There’s a missing variable and she has no idea what it is.

Frustrated, she calls Jon to get his friend Sam’s phone number under the guise of homework.

Sam is more than happy to help her after she explains. “Did you take the percent concentration into consideration?” he asks.

“Shit- _of course_. _That’s_ what I was missing.” She says, feeling stupid. “Wait, I don’t…um have that information. What concentrations does wildfire normally come in?”

“Depends on its uses. Anywhere from 10-95 percent, though it’s always 5 percent increments.”

She blows air out of her cheeks, relieved. “Thank you, Sam. You’re amazing.”

* * *

 

**_4 months, 7 days, 14 hours, 9 minutes_ **

Arya gets his text at lunch, so when the bell rings at the end of the day, she throws Hot Pie a quick goodbye and the promise they’ll hang out that weekend.

Spotting Jaime outside, he hands over _her_ helmet and they speed off to his apartment.

 

“Holy shit.” Arya says, completely baffled. “Can you tell what any of this means?”

The blue prints are unrolled on his table and held down with mugs and there are other sheets of paper strewn about.

“For the most part.” He begins flipping through as he explains. “Ten floors plus an underground garage. Top five are hotel rooms, fourth floor is where the money is handled, third is a nightclub, bottom two is gambling. Adding up, it’s something close to 200,000 square feet. Good news is that it’s a normal shaped building. Knowing Joffrey, it could have ended up something ridiculous- more ridiculous, I mean. But at least we have an address for the fucking thing.”

She nods and mulls it over. The place is going to be huge- much bigger than she anticipated. Chewing her bottom lip, she flips through the pages.

“The device is going to have to be placed almost directly in the center, right? I mean, a building this size,” she muses. She flips through again and stops. “It’s going to have to be here,” she points at the center of the fourth floor where it’s labeled ‘Counting Room.’ For a second, she feels the sharp pain of defeat. How are they going to sneak a _bomb_ on the floor where they _keep the money_?

Arya slumps into a chair. “Maybe-“ she stops herself.

“Maybe what?” Jaime asks, sitting next to her and putting his feet up on the chair opposite him.

“I was going to say, maybe we can do it while it’s still being built. That way, we won’t have to deal with what’s for sure to be the most heavily guarded floor in the whole fucking place, but Joffrey wouldn’t be there at all, right-“

“Joffrey won’t give a shit until it’s completed,” Jaime says, finishing for her. “It has to be done right at the grand opening-or right before it. It’s the only time he’ll be there.”

They both sit with arms crossed, staring at the table in front of them.

Arya frowns. “Before the grand opening makes sense. Everybody is probably going to be scrambling around- the janitors, the waitresses, the card people…the maintenance people…”  

“The _card_ people?” Jaime asks.

“You know,” she says. “The…people that deal the cards.”

Jaime laughs. “The _dealers_?”

She turns red. “Shut up, you knew what I meant.”

He rubs her leg indulgently. “Tentatively, we’ll shoot for a day or two before The Golden Lion’s grand opening. It makes the most sense. That’ll give us time to figure out how to get the damned thing in there.”

Arya groans. “Can’t we just run him over with a car?”

“And risk going to prison because it’d be completely obvious? For premeditated murder? I’m much too good looking to end up in prison.”

“Yeah, you are.” She snorts.

“Oh, I forgot.” She watches as he gets up and reaches for his jacket near the front door and digs around a pocket before sitting back down again.

He places two cell phones on top of the blue prints. Arya takes one and flips it open, noting a foreign brand name she’s never heard of printed on the inside.

“Prepaid phones. We use these whenever we need to, I don’t know, deal with any of this,” Jaime explains waving at the papers on the table. “It seemed like a good idea.”

Arya looks at him with disbelief. “We _are_ a couple of badass criminals. This is just like…Breaking Bad or something.” She flips the phone open and closed with her thumb. “Which one of us is Heisenberg?”

 

* * *

 

**_4 months, 5 days, 12 hours, 40 minutes_ **

With a clean sheet of paper, Arya meticulously calculates every variable she knows. Pulling her knees up to her chest, she balances the paper there. She smiles. She makes a _really good_ criminal.

There’s a knock on her bedroom door. “What?” She asks absently, admiring her math.

The door creaks open and she looks up to see Sansa’s head poking through. Without thinking, Arya leans over her bed and chucks the closest thing her hand finds. A shoe hits the door, forcing Sansa to close it.

“ _Fuck off, traitor_.” Arya bellows.

The door opens again, and Arya is ready to throw something else until she sees it’s her mother, laundry basket on her hip.

“ _Arya Stark_. _Do not_ speak to your sister that way, and _do not_ use that language in this house.”

“Sorry, Mother.”

Their mother turns to leave, and Sansa is there in her doorway fiddling with her hands.

“What do you want, Sansa?” Arya grumbles, not looking at her.

Sansa looks over her shoulder and slides into the room closing the door behind her. “You’re not talking to me.”

“You’re right. So why are you in here?” Arya carefully folds the paper and slides it under her pillow.

“This is about me telling Jon about Jaime Lannister, isn’t it?”

“You said you wouldn’t tell, _turncoat_ , but you did.”

Sansa pins her hands behind her against the door. “I said I wouldn’t tell Mother and Father, and I didn’t. I just…you and Jon are inseparable and I just thought that since I know you won’t talk to me about anything, you at least talk to Jon.”

“Why would I talk to anybody about anything?” Arya retorts, angrier than before.

Sansa sits on the edge of Arya’s bed and stares at the hands in her lap. “I was worried when I saw you with Jaime, because I haven’t had the best experience as far as the Lannisters are concerned. Really it was Joffrey and Cersei, but I don’t want you to ever have to deal with what I did.”

“Jaime’s not _Joffrey_ or _Cersei_.” Arya says, hackles raised. “Just because he’s Cersei’s brother, it doesn’t mean he’s anything like her. You don’t even _know him_. Jaime’s really smart, and he’s fucking hilarious, and he’s one of the good guys- so don’t think you have any right to say anything about him at all.”

“You’re right.” Sansa quietly agrees. “I don’t know him. But you seem to.”

“So what?”

“I assume that means you’re,” Sansa struggles to find the right words, “still hanging out together, or whatever.”

Arya wrinkles her nose. “And?”

“And nothing. I apologize for rushing to judgment.”

She can tell Sansa’s serious and she feels her resolve crumbling away. Arya hugs her knees to her chest. “Why are you with Petyr Baelish?”

Sansa turns to face her sister, soft smile on her lips. “A lot of reasons. He’s clever, and witty…handsome,” Arya raises an eyebrow, “and it may not look like it, but we’re very much alike. And who knows, maybe I can use his position to take down Joffrey and Cersei one day.”

Arya smiles at that, despite still being angry at her, and considers it. Sansa would know all about people judging who you’re with or who you love. They are in remarkably similar situations.

“Maybe those are the reasons I’m with Jaime.” She decides to say.

Sansa’s hand flies to her chest, and she sits completely on the bed. “So you _are_ together?” She gasps. “ _OhmyGod,_ Arya, tell me.”

Arya bangs her forehead against her knees. She just knew Sansa was going to react like this.

“Please, Arya. When did it happen? Is it official? Are you serious? Does anyone else know?”

Arya can’t help but laugh out loud at her sister’s rapid-fire questions. It actually feels good to talk about it. She knows if she even tried to say anything to Hot Pie or Lommy, they’d just stare at her and would need to be reminded that she’s even a girl.

“I mean… it’s pretty recent,” Arya starts, trying to hide her smile. “I guess it’s serious. He told me that he only wants to be with me, and that he loves me. And I told him that I love him too.” She’s blushing at saying it all out loud. It’s one thing to admit that she’s in love with Jaime to herself- or even to him- but it seems so much realer now.

“God, Arya. He’s like…movie star handsome.” Sansa says with a dreamy look on her face.

“I know, right?” Arya agrees, almost sounding disgusted. “It’s fucking stupid how good looking he is. And he’s even better looking up close when my tongue is in his mouth.”

She watches Sansa laugh. “Does anyone else know, aside from me and Jon?”

“Cersei does.”

The color drains from her sister’s face and the joy at having Arya’s confidence does too.

“Cersei knows? Arya, she’s…she’s _evil_. You don’t know what she’s capable of. You’re _with_ her twin brother.” She utters, eyes darting around in a panic.

Arya says gravely. “I do know what she’s capable of- and it’s worse than you can imagine.”

“You don’t-“

“I do.” She looks directly into Sansa’s eyes. “Jaime knows and I know. Cersei won’t try anything, but if she does, it won’t end well for her.”

* * *

 

 Jaime pulls up and when she gets in he’s too stunned to say anything. Arya is absolutely gorgeous. She’s always gorgeous in his eyes, but he’s never seen her like _this_.

“What?” She asks, shuffling around in her seat. “Is this okay?”

Jaime realizes he’s just been staring at her without saying anything. “I…yes. Absolutely.” She is just too fucking beautiful that he doesn’t want to take his eyes off her.

“Jaime,” Arya says, waiting on him. “Are we going?”

“What? Oh, yes of course.”

They drive through town, and he can’t help but glance at her at every opportunity. The dress she wears is lower cut than anything he’s ever seen on her before and it reveals just enough to entice. The girl is even wearing heels, and though they’re low enough to be practical, they enhance the gentle curve of her calves. Her dark hair is tucked behind her ear to expose small diamond studs and on her wrist is a delicate silver bracelet.

She lights a cigarette and it occurs to him that she possesses a classic, feminine beauty. Like this, she has the look of a femme fatale in a noir film.

How in the world would she ever think he’d be embarrassed by being with her? If it were up to him, he’d shout it from the rooftops.

“What?” She asks again, puzzled.

“What do you mean what?”

“Why are you smiling?”

Was he? “I was just thinking about you and how I’m going to have to beat all the men who are going to be throwing themselves at your feet.”

“ _Right_.” Arya says. “But if anyone could do it, it’d be you.”

“Of course it would. I’m still in peak physical condition- but if it comes to that, hold my jacket, will you? I love this suit.”

Arya smiles, and sort of curls up in her seat to face him as he’s driving.

At a stoplight he feels the tender caress of her hand on his face and when he looks at her, the sudden jolt of how much he feels about her is overpowering He softly takes her hand and kisses the back of it while looking into her grey eyes.

It’s taken him thirty-seven years to feel what it’s like to genuinely fall in love with someone.

 

“We’re going _here_?” Arya asks as they pull up to the valet.

The Broken Anchor is one of the most highly rated, expensive restaurants in town. “Yes. Why? Was there somewhere else you wanted to go?”

“Hot Pie’s adoptive _parents_ own this place.” She says looking at him. “I’ve never actually eaten here before, though.”

Jaime turns off the ignition. “Then let me take you.”

He goes to open her door, hands his keys over to the valet, and offers her his arm. Arya bats her eyelashes before accepting, curling her arm through his. Jaime can tell she’s a little out of her element and he kisses her temple.

“Your friend’s parents own this place? Then why haven’t you ever eaten here?” Jaime leads them to the hostess.

“We’re not even allowed inside the dining room once it’s open. The only food I’ve had from here is leftovers from out the kitchen door in the back.” Arya says as they’re escorted to a table.

He pulls the chair out for her, and she hesitates for a second before accepting. Jaime knows Arya-she’s independent and fiery, but he’s enjoying playing the chivalrous gentleman to her. He _wants_ to be that for her.

They discuss the menu when Arya says she has no idea what she wants, and decides to have Jaime order for her. He likes the idea so much he has to restrain himself from leaning over the table right then and kissing her.

“’Arry. What are you doing here? And why are you dressed like that?”

Jaime pays no attention, intent on perusing the wine list, until he hears Arya answer.

“I’m…what are you doing here? Since when do you work Fridays?”

He looks up to find a tall, wiry kid with acne scars lining his hairline holding a bus tub.

“Hell,” the kid says. “Today finally. ‘Bout to come away with some decent fucking tips for once.”

“That’s good-“

“Oh shit, I’m sorry,” the kid says acknowledging Jaime. He shifts the bus tub a bit and extends a hand. “You must be her uncle, right? Benjen?”

“That’s not my Uncle Benjen, stupid. That’s Jaime, he’s my…” Arya’s eyes dart to Jaime, worried about what to say. “My, um…he’s-“

“Her boyfriend,” Jaime answers, with an intentionally smug look. He shakes the kid’s hand, gripping tighter than he would normally. “And you are?”

“Lommy.” He says quickly, before turning back to Arya. “Since when do you have a boyfriend?”

“Since…who cares?” She tries changing the subject. “You still coming over tomorrow night? Bran left for the weekend. The PlayStation is ours.”

“Yeah. You want me to tell Hot Pie you’re here?” Lommy asks, giving Jaime a sideways look.

“No, I’ll just see him tomorrow.”

“D’you think your mom will make us those waffles in the morning? The ones with the-“

“Ask my mother. If not, we’ll make Hot Pie do it. Now don’t you have to get back to work?”

“’ _Arry_?”

“ _Boyfriend_?” They say at the same time.

“That’s just what they call me,” Twirling the stem of her water glass, she looks up unsure at him. “So I’m your girlfriend?”

Jaime waves his hands a bit. “I suppose… what should I call you? Companion? That makes you sound like you’re my nurse.”

“No, just…boyfriend or girlfriend seems like we should be holding hands at the movies, or something.” Arya fidgets with her hands. “And you’re more than that.” She looks at him with bright eyes, and he knows exactly what she’s saying.

He holds a hand out on the table as an invitation for her to hold it. When she does, his fingers tighten around hers.

“I don’t give one whit what we call each other, as long as it’s abundantly clear that you’re mine.” He hopes he’s got his point across without making it seem as though he’s trying to posses her-because he’s just as much hers as she’s his.

Arya blushes prettily in the dim light. “That means you’re mine, and I’ll fuck up any bitch that thinks otherwise.”

Jaime lifts up her hand to kiss it. “I’m glad we understand each other, my darling.”

 

“Can you get out of school on Monday and Tuesday?” Jaime asks as the wine comes. Arya sits rigidly as a tasting is poured in their glasses, and she gives him a surprised look, delighted in being served alcohol without question.

Once the bottle is left at the table, Arya wonders why.

“We’re going to the Rosby mine. You’ll need your school uniform.”

“Why both days?”

“The paper trail. If we’re successful, we’ll need to go back the next day.”

Jaime tells her the plan.

* * *

 

They’re at the top of Visenya’s Hill over looking the city, where they’re both leaning on the hood of Jaime’s car, passing the rest of the bottle of wine from dinner between them.

Arya’s got his suit jacket draped on her shoulders and Jaime has his sleeves rolled up. They talk and smoke and Arya wonders how she was ever worried about going out with him.

“You look stunning tonight, by the way.” He says to her passing her the bottle.

Arya smiles and looks down at herself. She feels pretty-something she never really strived for or cared much about-but she can’t deny that whenever Jaime says stuff like that to her, she’s elated.

“Thanks.” She takes the last drink of wine. “Guess that’s that,” she says pouring the last drops onto the ground.

Jaime takes the bottle and puts it in his trunk, then stands between her legs. He toys with her hands a bit and rubs a thumb over the bracelet she never really wears.

“I want to buy you something expensive and shiny. Will you let me?”

Arya looks up at him. “What do you mean?”

“I _mean_ ,” Jaime says, letting her hands go and tucking her hair behind her ears, “that you’re my girl, as we’ve established. And as such, I’d like to buy you something pretty and sparkly to wear. I know that’s not your thing, but I want to anyway.”

“Pretty and sparkly? Like metal nipple tassels?”

“Hm,” he considers with a smile, looking off into the distance. “I was thinking more along the lines of a necklace or earrings, but I think I can reconsider- especially if _that’s_ an option.”

Arya laughs, partially to hide the happiness he brings her. “You don’t need to, you know. I don’t need any of that. You could give me a $5 ring, and I’d wear it because it’s from you.”

“I do know that. But I’m only really asking as a formality.”

The warmth from his hands that are still in her hair sends a shiver down her spine. Her fingers hook into his waistband and she looks him in the eyes. They stare at each other for a moment.

As she takes him in, emotions come barreling up from inside her. There’s a weight in her chest, and she can feel the burning of tears in the corners of her eyes. It’s overwhelming how much one person can mean to her. Jaime has taken a permanent place in her heart-irrevocably changing it forever. And there’s no one else for her she’s certain.

“I love you, Jaime.” She says, voice heavy.

The way he looks at her reminds her of the first time they crossed paths again, like she’s the one thing he’s been looking for-as if he can’t believe she’s really here.

“I love you, Arya Stark.” His answers before kissing her.

_I love you, I love you, I love you_. She chants in her head in this perfect moment.

Jaime continues to kiss her as he places a hand on the hood and lowers her slowly, laying her on his jacket. She takes her hands from his waist and places them on his chest. He’s so solid and warm and strong. She yanks at his shirt, untucking it and runs her hands up his stomach.

His breath becomes quicker as she explores the soft hair covering the hardness of his chest. Jaime leans down farther, hand slowly skimming her shoulder and the small swell of her breast before making his way to her hip where he squeezes and pulls her slightly down to him.

Arya can feel the wetness between her legs and he lifts her knee up. She wraps her arms around the small of his back and pulls him closer to her.

“We need to stop,” he breathes as he kisses a line down her neck, “before we fuck in the backseat of the car like teenagers.”

“I am a teenager,” she reasons with him.

He moves back a little and Arya grabs his face and he gives her a quick kiss. “When we do, you’ll be in my bed,” another kiss, “with no clothes on, where I can keep you for hours.”

“Okay,” she agrees distractedly. Arya pulls his head down to her and holds him there as he kisses her.

Jaime’s hand slides up her thigh under her dress, all the way up until she feels his finger tip lightly brushing the outside of her panties. She gasps and spreads her legs wider. Such small contact is driving her crazy, and she needs more.

So much for stopping.

He runs his tongue down her throat as he moves her panties aside. Kicking off her shoes, she plants her feet on the bumper and he rubs the folds of her.

“Oh God.” He groans. “ _Arya_.”

“Please, Jaime,” she whispers. She’s never wanted anyone or anything so badly in her life.

With each swipe of his fingers he gets closer and closer and it’s not enough.

“ _Jaime_ ,” Arya pleads, gripping his head where it rests between her breasts. He indulges her and pushes a finger inside. She squeezes her eyes shut and arches her back.

And it’s so good. _It’s so, so good_.

“When we do, I’m going to fuck you so hard, you’ll feel as though you’re being split in half.” Jaime grits out into her chest.

Arya bites her lip to try to stop herself from crying out as he works his finger in and out of her. She’s so wet she can feel and and hear it, but she doesn’t give a shit.

Jaime moves up to kiss her and she tries to kiss back but she’s too uncoordinated at the moment. She pants into his mouth as he looks at her and she can’t tell if she should spread her legs more or clamp her knees shut to keep him where he is.

“ _Don’t stop_.” She moans. Because she so close. _Sofuckingclose_.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard that when I fill you up you’ll be dripping my seed from your cunt for days afterward.” Jaime says still looking at her.

His words send her tottering over the edge. Throwing her head back she cries out his name and shudders. He’s so fucking good. Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, she thinks.

Once she controls her staggered breath, Jaime gently pulls his hand away and she watches as he places the finger in his mouth. Jaime Lannister is so unbelievably sexy.

“Fuck.” She mutters.

 

She stands up and readjusts her self a little before wrapping her arms around his neck. Using her body, she pushes him against the hood, forcing him to sit. Arya’s nervous, she’s never done this before. But she has brothers and her best friends are boys-she’s seen porno.

Arya can do this. She _wants_ to do this for him.

Kissing him, she can taste the faint hint of her on his tongue and that just spurs her on. With shaky hands she starts to undo the button on his pants.

“Arya, you don’t-“

“Shut up, Jaime.” She kisses his neck and makes her way to his ear. “Don’t you want your cock in my mouth?” She whispers huskily.

She feels him freeze. Tilting her head back she looks at him, hoping she didn’t come across as stupid in some way.

He just swallows. “Well when you put it that way.”

Arya runs her hand along the length of him before pulling it out. He’s…big, not that she has anything to compare it to, but she thinks so anyway. Bending over she runs her tongue on the underside and she hears Jaime take a sharp breath.

She does it again and again before deciding to just go for it. Wrapping her lips around him she moves slowly down. He _has_ to be considered big-she can’t even go half way down.

Using his moans as indication that she’s doing something right, she swirls her tongue a bit.

“Oh fuck.”

Arya looks up at him, and his head is back, eyes closed. She’d smile if she could.

Jaime’s hand moves to the back of her head and tangles between the strands of her hair. His body clenches and the grip on her hair becomes tighter. He says her name and she feels the hot come shoot to the back of her throat. She chokes and sputters a bit, struggling to keep her mouth on him. Her eyes are watering and she takes a second to recover.

Slowly, she slides her lips off of him and swallows. She tucks him back into his pants carefully, distracting herself from looking at him. She has no idea why she’s shy _now_ , for fuck’s sake.

“Jesus, Arya.”

Looking up at him, he’s more disheveled than she’d ever seen him and she giggles.

“What?”

“I was just thinking that if you can do that with just your hands, I really want to see what you can do with the rest of you.”

Jaime pulls her close. “Trust me, you are _definitely_ going to find out.”

* * *

 

**_4 months, 3 days, 23 hours, 17 minutes_ **

The GPS alerts them when they're only two miles from the turnoff that will lead them to the mine and Arya inhales.

“So, the Weighmaster gets the shipment of wildfire and records what they’ve received. Then, another department will input the data into the company’s software.” Arya runs through again.

Jaime nods. “It only changes hands once. The weight certificate is then placed in the controlled documents room. That’s where we need to go. We’ll take the latest weight certificate and a blank one. I assume it will have what you need-“

“Percent concentration.” 

“Right. Then, once we figure out how much we need, we’ll subtract that and use the new numbers on the fake certificate- which is why we have to come back tomorrow to put it back. Plus, we’ll use it as an excuse to tour the warehouses where it’s stored. We may need to act fairly quickly to actually _get_ the wildfire. I have no idea how quickly or how much they go through.”

Arya bounces her leg. “What about the discrepancy? What if someone notices the different numbers on the certificate and what’s on the computer?”

Jaime asks Arya for a cigarette. “We’re counting on that discrepancy. If, for any reason, someone notices then they’ll think one or the other has made a mistake. But if it’s deemed necessary to investigate further, it won’t matter. We’ll be long gone with what we need.”

“You’re sure?”

“I am. I’ve grown up around these places and what I couldn’t remember, Tyrion filled me in.”

They turn down a narrow road. Arya’s hands are sweaty and she chews her lip. There’s a nervous excitement running through her and if they pull this off maybe she _should_ consider a career as an international art thief.

The pull up to a fenced in property with warehouses and machinery. Outside the gate, sitting in a decrepit guard booth an old man pokes his head out.

“Just visiting,” Jaime says politely.

The old man doesn’t say anything as he steps out and punches a few numbers on the keypad mounted to the fence. The gate slowly rolls open.

“Did you happen to see what the code was?” Jaime asks Arya quietly.

“Four numbers,” she answers. “It looked like it was just 1-2-3-4, but I’m not certain.”

“When we come back tomorrow, let’s make sure.”

She nods and they drive through the gate. “Security doesn’t seem very strict.”

“That’s because it’s just sand and gravel here. If it were one with precious metals, we’d be fucked.”

Coming to a stop outside an old brick building used for administration Arya takes a deep breath.

They both sit for a second, staring at the building through the windshield before Jaime and Arya turn to each other at the same time. Jaime grabs her hand and gives a quick kiss to her fingertips.

“Shall we?”

“Lets.”

They step out and Jaime tosses his overcoat in the car and buttons up his suit jacket as Arya flings her book bag over her shoulder. She yanks up her uniform socks and readies herself.

 

Reception is a small area separated by a low wall divider where there’s a bowl of candy and a few racks of pamphlets. The place has a worn down vibe, emphasized by the dull green paint on the walls.

A woman typing at the computer looks up at them and greets them.

Jaime puts on his most charming smile. “Yes, I’m here to take the young lady on a tour of the facilities,” he pauses and leans over the divider to read her name plate, “Amerei.”

“Oh shoot,” Amerei says blushing. “There’s no one available to escort you, I’m afraid.”

“That won’t be necessary,” he says good-naturedly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t introduce myself. My name is Jaime Lannister.” He extends a hand and cocks his head.

Her mouth drops and she fumbles around a little trying to stand up at her desk.

She takes his hand. “Oh, Mr. Lannister. I’m sorry. I didn’t recognize you.”

“Oh no. I apologize for not phoning ahead. You see, the young lady here is on a job shadow with me…studying environmental science, and since this is the only time I had free, I figured it wouldn’t be a problem if we had a quick look around. I promise, we won’t get in anyone’s way, Amerei.”

“Of course not, Mr. Lannister. Stay as long as you like.” Amerei shuffles things around on her desk looking for something.

Arya can tell she’s flustered by Jaime’s attention and she rolls her eyes at his intentionally suave voice and charismatic demeanor towards this poor lady.

“Here,” Amerei says, handing him a clipboard. “You’ll have to sign the visitor’s log-even if it is _you_ , Mr. Lannister.”

Jaime stops and blinks at her for a second before stealing a glance at Arya. Arya meets his gaze.

_Fuck_. Neither one of them had thought of that. They’ll be a written record of their visit here.

He composes himself. “…Yes, of course.” He scribbles down his name and hands the clipboard to Arya. Jaime’s name is the fourth listed.

She does the same, and she runs a thumb under the top sheet, noticing a blank one underneath. Arya clears her throat and places the clipboard on the divider.

Amerei smiles at Jaime and hands him two laminated badges with ‘Visitor’ printed on them and escorts the two of them down to a hallway and tells them to find her if they need anything.

When the receptionist is far enough away, Jaime whispers. “The visitor’s log.”

They start down looking at the plates mounted to the walls next to the doors they come across.

“I know.” She answers in a hushed tone of her own. “I think I can…I think I can do something but you need to distract her… _Mr. Lannister_.” A teasing smile graces her lips as she looks up at him.

Jaime flinches and gives her a pained look.

They wind through turns and hallways, passing a break room that smells like coffee and various people’s personal offices. Peeking around one corner they find an exit, and the other they find what they’re here for.

The door labeled as ‘Document Control’ is locked.

“Shit,” Jaime mutters.

Arya jiggles the handle herself. “ _Oh_.” She exclaims louder than she intended as an idea occurs to her, and she flips her bag to her front and digs around. “Cover me.”

“Cover you?”

She motions to the hall they're in. “ _Cover me_.”

With trembling hands, she finds her wallet and pulls out the first hard plastic she finds. She says a silent prayer as she wedges her bus pass between the door and the jamb. For a second, it’s as though it’s too tight to push in, but desperation has her forcing more than she probably should. The card is half way in and she slides it down.

The door clicks open.

They push their way into a dark room hardly bigger than a closet that smells like dust. Slowly shutting the door behind them, Jaime lifts her up.

“Where did you learn to _do that_?” He asks, clearly impressed.

Arya smiles. “Robb’s friend Theon, actually.”

“You are _such_ a badass, little Stark.” He gives her a quick kiss before setting her down.

Flipping on the light, they start going through files.

“Look for a blank certificate,” he tells her. “It says Weighmaster on it, I think.”

Arya rifles through everything in reach. When she can’t find anything she climbs up shelving to knock down boxes for her to look through.

“Found it. It looks like this.” He says showing her. “It’s _perfect_. The shipment came in two days ago and it’s only ordered monthly. This time it’s 4,500 pounds.”

Arya nods and is about to ask for help when she finds a manila envelope and decides to check it. She takes a breath of relief. There’s one blank one left. She smiles and holds up the envelope.

He hands her what he found. “It’s 75 percent concentration.”

She gets on her knees to look for her paper she’s been using. “If it’s 75 percent we’ll need near a thousand pounds.” Arya sighs. “Is that possible?”

“Have you seen wildfire? They’re in small, heavy bricks. It’s doable.”

Arya nods and her resolve comes back. “Doable.”

 

Jaime and Arya make their way back towards reception and they both unclip their visitor badges and shove them in their pockets.

“You thought of something?”

Arya smiles. “Just talk to the receptionist. She just _adores_ you.”

Jaime saunters up to her desk. “Amerei, may I ask you a few questions?” He sits on the corner of her desk and smiles. “It seems as though I need to take her back to school, but I was hoping if it isn’t too much trouble…perhaps we could return tomorrow?”

Arya fiddles with her backpack on the opposite side of the divider. “Oh, Mr. Lannister, I need you to sign something for my school,” she says swinging her book bag up on top of the divider knocking everything off onto her side, clipboard included.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry.” Arya exclaims, bending down. She grabs the clipboard and slips the top paper off.

“Do you need a hand?” Jaime asks, sounding annoyed.

“Oh no, no. I’ve got it. Sorry.” Arya says feigning embarrassment. She does her best to copy the first three names on the log on the clean sheet. It wouldn’t hold up to scrutiny, but it’d do for now. As quietly as she can, she folds up the paper with their names on it and shoves it in her blazer pocket.

She scoops up the candy and gathers the pamphlets and hastily puts them back up. The clipboard comes last, and she puts it against the far wall.

“Pardon me, sir.” Arya says sheepishly. “I’ll wait for you outside.”

Jaime glances over her shoulder and waves her off. Once she’s outside, she leans against his car and rests her hands on her knees. She wants to burst out laughing.

A moment later Jaime steps out, wide-eyed. He unbuttons his jacket and they get in his car. Neither of them say anything until they’ve reached the other side of the gate.

“I can’t…fucking believe we just did that,” Arya says and beams at him.

Jaime laughs and squeezes her knee. “We are fucking amazing together.”

"/>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shoots finger guns while moonwalking out of the room*


	7. 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A burglary, a weekend, lions in the wolves' den, and a new player enters the game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyones kind words and thoughtful comments mean everything to me. Thank you to all who take the time to read this.

 

  ** _4 months, 2 days, 22 hours, 30 minutes remain_ **

****

They arrive the next morning intent on replacing the certificate that Arya forged. It took her about ten minutes of practice before she perfected the Weighmaster’s signature and Jaime asked how she managed so quickly.

Smiling, she tells him she used to forge her mother’s signature to avoid trouble and Jaime thinks how useful that would have been when he was in school.

Pulling up to the gate, they both watch the input of the code. “It _is_ 1-2-3-4,” Arya frowns. “That’s almost disappointing.”

 

When the two of them step through the doors of the administration building this time, Jaime’s hit with such a strong smell of gardenia it almost knocks him off his feet. He sees Arya flinch then eye the clipboard, where it hasn’t moved since she left it.

“What a lovely morning, Amerei. I trust you’re doing well?” He does his whole charming Lannister bit without trying too hard. Amerei titters and he notices that along with bathing in perfume, she put on roughly twelve layers of makeup.

He sits on her desk again, making small talk, hoping she’d forget about the visitor’s log today. It’s becoming painful as he asks about the photograph of a dog on her desk.

Arya stands with perfect posture, waiting patiently, and he knows she’s trying not wrinkle her nose. “Um, excuse me, Mr. Lannister?”

Jaime sighs and acts put upon. “Right. Well, I suppose I ought to get to it,” he says to Amerei. Standing up, he raps his knuckles on her desk and winks. “We’ll speak again.”

Amerei giggles as Jaime and Arya take their leave without signing in this time.

“Jesus. That woman is wearing so much perfume my eyes are burning,” he says as they make their way to the document room.

“Ugh, I know. I can _taste_ it.” She says and pulls a card out of her pocket. And just like last time, she opens the door. “She did that for _you_. Should I be worried?”

“Mmh.” Jaime thinks as he closes the door and opens the file cabinet waiting for her to search through her bag. “Yes, when I think of lifting up your skirt and ravishing you right here, right now-I’ll be fantasizing about the receptionist that looks and smells like a dead French whore.”

Arya wheezes out a laugh. “God, Jaime. _Gross_.”

“Not as gross as she is.”

 

“Would you like a tour of the grounds, young lady?” He asks as they step through the exit and head towards the warehouses.

“Of course, _Mr. Lannister_.” Arya pulls out a notebook and pencil, poised and at the ready. It makes him think of a stenographer.

“Jot this down,” He clears his throat dramatically, “Jaime Lannister-with two N’s -Jaime Lannister has the most statuesque physique and pleasing face…”

Arya stops walking and starts to write something. Curious, Jaime stops and peeks over her shoulder. She lifts up the pad for him to get a better look.

‘Jaime Lannister is an asshole.’ Is what she wrote, and Jaime pouts, “At least add the part where my chest is as hard as chiseled marble.”

Arya laughs but then realizes where they are. She schools her face and flips the paper as they make their way to the largest building that serves as service area for machinery where there are a few men tinkering. If anyone is curious about who they are or why they’re here, nobody is asking.

There’s a smaller building with both bay doors open.

“This has to be it,” Jaime says to her. They exchange looks and make their way inside. It’s used as storage with shelves nearly up to the ceiling. There’s no one here and they begin a slow lap, trying to read each label.

“Would it be in there?” Arya asks lowly, nodding to a small shed the size of a large doghouse. The outside is plastered with hazard stickers.

“I think so.” He throws a look over his shoulder before they make their way over. It’s locked with a padlock. “Keys.”

Arya looks around then casually strolls over to a mounted desk with a phone and an ancient computer. Above are three hooks with keys. “One of these?”

The keys are a small enough. “I believe you’re right, darling.”

She smiles up at him and he checks if the coast is still clear before he grabs her face and kisses her. Arya pulls away after a few seconds.

“Knock it off, we’re going to get caught. Amerei will be _devastated_.” She nudges him towards the bay doors. They move to leave until Jaime stops as he thinks of something.

He turns all the way around until he sees a door at the far end.

Arya frowns, following him.

“It won’t do any good if we have everything we need but can’t actually get _inside_ ,” he explains. “I’m sure the bay doors get locked, and I don’t know how to open them from outside.” Jaime reaches for the doorknob but freezes. Taking the bottom of his jacket he uses it to cover his hand as he opens it. Pulling, he inspects the knob and he’s surprised-there’s no keyhole.

“I don’t think this even _locks_.” He steps back and looks up to see if it has a sliding lock of some sort, but there’s nothing. He gives Arya a puzzled look.

Arya shrugs and he steps back. “I guess…that’s one thing we don’t have to worry about.”

“I really ought to speak to them about security around here.”

 

He stops the car about an eight of a mile from the mine road. Getting out, he motions to Arya to follow him. Jaime stands with his hands in his pockets and Arya leans on his car. Looking around, he’s trying to get his bearings. It’s a busy road during the day, but virtually empty at night. Since it’s industrial area, there’s nothing but an emulsion plant a quarter of a mile away. Far enough away that they won’t be seen by a potential camera.

“Can you drive?”

“I can,” she raises an eyebrow. “I know how to, I just don’t have a license.”

“I’m going to have to get a truck or something like it since I can’t put a thousands pounds into my car without the suspension going out. I go in at night this weekend and get what we need. You’ll have to follow me in my car.”

“You want me to drive _your car_? _This_ car?” She looks terrified as she glances at the car, then at him. “And what am I supposed to do while you get it?”

“You’ll be fine.” Jaime assures her. “And…you’ll have to distract the security guard I know will be there.”

She sighs and shoves her hands into her blazer pockets. Looking around her she chews her lip. “I can do it.”

Jaime turns to face her. “Of course you can. I’d be surprised if there’s anything you can’t do.” He tells her honestly.

A delightful blush fills her cheeks and she ducks her head. She shuffles a toe into the gravel and looks up. “Hold on. Where are we taking it? Are we going to smuggle half a ton of explosives into your apartment?”

He’s thought of that, and unfortunately there’s only one solution he could think of. “I was hoping for somewhere closer to us in the city, but we’ll use my house in Maidenpool. It has a garage and everything.”

“Maidenpool? Shit. It’s…an hour from here, right?” She points the opposite way they came. “Then we need to drop it off and turn right back around, I have to be home before my parents wake up.”

He leans against the car next to her. “Can’t you say you’re spending the night at a friend’s house?”

She shakes her head. “No. My parents talk to Hot Pie’s and I’m not allowed to sleep over at Lommy’s since his mother is never around. They only met her once, and Robb said she looked like she has orgies at music festivals.”

Jaime gives her a look at that and reaches down to lace his fingers between hers. “That’s that then. Saturday night, I’ll pick you up. It’s a date.”

“Is it?” Arya smiles. “Does that mean it’ll end like the last one?”

“You _are_ a wicked little thing,” he says as he takes her by the hand to the passenger door and opens it. “If it were up to me, I’d end it like that-and _more_ -every time I see you.”

When she sits down, Jaime leans over her and runs a hand up her outer thigh. Just touching her like this is enough to make his cock twitch. Arya grabs his lapel and brings his mouth to hers. He’s so distracted by the cool skin under his hand and the heat from her mouth that he’s starting to reconsider his stance on not fucking her in his car.

Groaning, he straightens up. “If we keep going we’re going to get arrested.”

 Arya looks a little dazed. “Sorry, you’re just really… really good.”

* * *

 

**_3 months, 28 days, 2 hours, 40 minutes_ **

****

“You almost ready?”

Arya cracks open her bedroom door. Her parent’s had gone to bed an hour prior, and she thinks they’re probably asleep.

“Yeah. Should be.” Arya takes a deep breath and rechecks herself in the mirror.

“Oh, leave your cell phone at home and bring the one I gave you.”

“Why?”

“GPS. We should have done that when we went to Rosby the first two times.” Arya smacks herself in the forehead when she hears that. How had neither of them thought about that?

“ _Shit_ ,” Arya exhales. “It’s a good idea-I’m glad you remembered.”

“What did I say about being the brains?” He teases.

“That makes _me_ the good looks.” She rolls her eyes.

“And what a _good looking_ , _beautiful_ woman you are, my love.”

Arya twists her face to try and not smile. “You leaving?”

“Right now.”

 

He drives them to Visenya’s Hill, but this time there’s a 1970’s era Ford pickup truck waiting.

Getting out, Jaime pulls on black leather gloves. She just now notices they’re both in black, Jaime with a hooded sweatshirt and her in a little black dress and heels she stole from Sansa.

They go over the plan again and Jaime takes her face into his hands and gives her a mischievous smile. “Ready to steal some wildfire with me?”

Arya grins. “Fuck yes, I am.” She stands on her toes and wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him.

Jaime’s hands run up and down her back and gives her a kiss back. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

 

Arya totters on the heels that are a little too high for comfort and takes a deep breath. She readjusts her purse so when she looks down, she can see inside. The car is where it should be with Jaime parked in the truck behind her far enough away that she can’t spot him. Not being able to see him makes her a little nervous, but _she can do this._

Squaring her shoulders she crosses the road and makes her way towards the mine.

She rubs her eyes enough to smear her mascara. Squeezing her eyes shut, she does it again and it stings. Her eyes water and it makes it harder to see considering how dark it is out here. Stumbling down the road, she channels her inner Sansa. How would she act given the situation? She would cry and freak out, of course.

Arya approaches the guard booth and sees a man inside. “Hello? Is anyone there? Can anyone help me?” Her voice trembles and she’s really playing into the damsel in distress, but apparently, he can’t hear her.

Annoyed, she tries again a little louder. “ _Hello_? Oh _please_ , I need help.”

This time, she sees the guard startle and fly out of the booth, flashlight in hand. “Oh thank God,” she melodramatically sobs. “Can you help?”

The guard who appears no older than Robb flashes his light at her and she notices his ill-fitting uniform. “Miss? Are you alright?”

“I’m so sorry, my car has a flat tire, and my phone is dead, and I’m lost,” Arya babbles.

“Oh, um.” The guard looks over his shoulder at the booth. “You can…my phone. Use it. You can use my phone, I mean.”

The offer gives her pause. “That’s…so kind of you, but there’s no one to call. Can you help me change it? I’m trying to drive to King’s Landing, but I’m stranded.” She looks at his nametag sewn onto his shirt. “I hate to ask, Podrick, but I’m scared of being out here alone.”

Arya watches as Podrick thinks about it, scratching the back of his head. “Well…sure. You’re on the main road?”

She gives her best relieved smile. “I am. Thank you so much.”

Arya chats with him as they make their way to the car, and she almost feels bad about duping him. He seems really nice, and in any other circumstance she’s be his friend.

“What’s your name?” He sounds a little embarrassed before adding, “Because you know mine. Which is Podrick. Obviously.”

“My name? My name’s…Nan. Nice to meet you Podrick.”

He gives her a friendly smile as they approach the car, but stops. “You drive an _Aston Martin_?”

Shit. “I…” Arya scrambles for an excuse for driving one of the most expensive cars on the market, “I…It’s my father’s. I use it when he’s out of town-and he’ll be really pissed if I leave it out here, you know. Is that okay? Can you still help me?”

“Yeah. Should be like any other tire. But if I accidently scratch it, can you leave my name out of it?”

Arya laughs despite herself and opens the trunk for Podrick to get the spare. When he leans down, she shoves her hand into her purse and lifts the flip phone enough to send the text to Jaime.

* * *

The screen lights up and Jaime grips the steering wheel before turning the key in the ignition. The truck roars to life, and it’s quite possibly the loudest sound he’s ever heard. He turns off the headlights and raises the hood of his sweatshirt.

Rumbling down the road he briefly spots Arya and his car with the hazard lights on, but he tries not to get distracted as he makes is way to the mine.

* * *

“If it isn’t too much trouble,” Podrick says, breath strained as he loosens the lug nuts, “could I see the inside? I never seen a car so expensive before.”

“Yeah, totally.” She agrees distractedly, hearing the truck.

* * *

The code they observed is correct and Jaime drives towards the warehouse. He backs up at one of the bay doors and runs to open the door that apparently doesn’t lock.

Making his way inside he wishes he thought to bring a flashlight, but it doesn’t matter because he can find his way. He jogs to the bay door from inside and pushes the button to open it.

Once it grinds up, he goes for the keys.

The third set is the one he wants.

Throwing the padlock on the floor he yanks the door open to find five wooden crates listed as wildfire.

* * *

“I know how much this car costs. Can’t imagine what a single tire is gonna run you.”

* * *

That means each crate literally holds the amount they need, Jaime thinks. How fucking perfect is that.

He looks around for a forklift. One smooth move, and they’re done.

Except there _is_ no forklift. Jaime can’t remember if he saw one in here, but he just assumed. He runs to the truck and throws the seat forward for a rusted crowbar he knows is there. Grabbing it, he runs back to the crates.

Jaime now has to load a thousand pounds by hand.

* * *

“A lot, probably.” Arya says, standing in front of him as he begins to jack up the car. “He’ll…probably take it out of my allowance.”

* * *

 

He uses the crowbar to open the lid, and is such a hurry it almost splinters into pieces. He jimmies his way as carefully as he can to open it in one piece, and when the top pops off and lands on the floor, Jaime curses.

The crowbar clatters to the ground.

“Oh fuck,” he manages to breathe. “Oh fuck.” He rests his hands on his wobbly knees.

_Oh thank fucking God._

Puttied on the lid Jaime pried off is a GPS tracker.

* * *

“I don’t mind, you know. Helping. It’s the most interesting thing that’s happened ‘round here.” Podrick says as he places the spare on.

“Really? I’d think working at night it’d be sort of interesting.” Arya says looking down at her purse.

Why isn’t he texting yet?

* * *

 

They’re in 100-pound bricks, and he can comfortably move two at a time, which he does. When they’re all loaded, he pries the tracker off the lid and drops it behind another crate. Throwing the empty crate and lid into the back of the truck, he covers it as fast as he can with a blue tarp and weighs it down with old mason bricks and slams the tailgate shut.

* * *

“Should be tightened enough,” Podrick says, looking down at the tire. He bends down and starts gathering the tools and places them back into the trunk.

“I really appreciate it,” Arya nervously smiles.

* * *

Jaime closes the bay door before putting the keys back on the hooks. The lock goes back on the shed, and he runs his eyes over everything seeing if there’s anything he missed.

* * *

 

Podrick blushes and turns to put the flat tire into the trunk as well. Once it’s in he gently shuts the door, and Arya throws a worried look over her shoulder.

* * *

He punches in the code to shut the gate behind him. Once he’s about to turn back onto the main road, he sends a text.

* * *

Her purse illuminates from inside.

“Did you want to see the inside?” She offers quickly.

“Yeah. I mean, if it’s no trouble.”

“No way, c’mon.”

 

Podrick slides into the passenger seat as Arya gets into the driver’s.

Arya has to physically restrain herself from turning her head to watch him come. She doesn’t have to wait long before the glare of headlights can be seen in the side mirror.

She’s aware Podrick’s talking, but all her focus is on Jaime. Watching him pass her, she breathes a quiet sigh of relief.

 

Arya parks the car behind where Jaime stopped. Throwing the door open, she runs to Jaime and jumps into his arms and hugs him as tight as she can.

“Did we do it?” She whispers.

He squeezes her before putting her down. “Come see for yourself.” He lowers the tailgate and lifts the tarp flap.

Arya runs a finger over an exposed block of wildfire. “Holy…fucking shit, Jaime. We did it.”

“You’re goddamn right we did. Now-let’s get this shit to the house and we’ll get you home.”

* * *

**_3 months, 24 days, 6 hours, 1 minute_ **

 

“We’re going to visit Robb this weekend,” Mother says at dinner. “Jon has plans and won’t be there, but it’d be nice for everyone to go. We’d be back Sunday afternoon.”

“I think I’m going to stay home, of that’s okay.” Sansa says, taking a delicate bite of her food. “I’m thinking of switching majors and maybe law school after undergrad. I’d like to research a bit more.”

“Is that right?” Father says surprised. “Why law?”

“I want to make a difference, and there’s so many different types of lawyers. Civil rights, environmental. I’m seriously considering it.”

“If you’re that serious about it, you should speak to my friend Petyr. He would know all about the LSATs and whatnot.” Mother smiles and Arya lifts her eyes from her plate to Sansa.

Sansa gives a small, polite smile. “Of course. Perhaps I should.” Sansa catches Arya’s eye and she blushes.

“I have to stay too,” Arya blurts out.

“Arya, don’t talk with your mouth full,” her mother says automatically.

“And why would that be?” Father asks. “We can visit that medieval weapons museum you like so much.”

“Er, well. I have to catch up on school work from when I was sick last week. And I think Mr. Hollard has been drinking again. He assigned us eight chapters in history, _plus_ questions, _plus_ a summary for each one.” She’s not totally lying- she’s certain Mr. Hollard _is_ drinking at school again.

Her mother then brings up the idea of having a party on summer solstice since their father will be out of town for their annual 4th of July get together.

“ _Summer solstice_?” Asks Bran. “Are we like, pagan hippies? Are we going to go out and hug trees now?”

Father has a desperate look in his eye as he struggles to come up with excuses.

Mother just smiles and rattles off a list of names of families Arya knows and has grown up with. She stops listening until she says she’ll be inviting all the Lannisters.

Arya freezes in fear. Not fear for herself, or even fear of Cersei-because Cersei doesn’t scare her. She’s scared of what will happen to Jaime if Cersei decides to say something about them.

* * *

**_3 months, 22 days, 8 hours, 10 minutes_ **

 

Arya bounces on her heels, trying to muster up courage. She probably should have warned him in some way, but instead just decided to show up. She takes a deep breath and rolls her eyes at herself and knocks.

Jaime answers barefoot in just jeans and a t-shirt. She can’t help but smile when his face lights up when he sees it’s her.

“Hello, pretty little thing,” he says pulling her inside. “What are you doing here?”

“Sorry…they just waved me by downstairs. I didn’t have to tell them who I was or anything.”

“That’s because I told them to let you up any time you come here.”

That seems to flatter her for some reason. “Oh yeah? That’s really cool…um, I probably should have talked to you first- asked if you actually had plans or something,” she fidgets a bit. “But my parents are gone for the weekend, and I sort of thought that I could stay here…with you.”

Jaime takes the bag off of her shoulder, drops it on the floor, and lifts her up. “Are you serious?”

She wraps her legs around him. “If you’re busy, I underst-“

“-All weekend?” He asks disbelieving as he walks them to the couch where he sits down with Arya on his lap. “I get you all to myself?”

She nods.

“I was hoping to see you anyway. And even if I did have plans, none of them would matter if it meant I get to have you for two days.” He leans back and runs his fingers through hers. Jaime looks so happy. She always wants him this way.

“What were you doing just now?”

“Oh, I’ll show you. I’ve been working on it all week, actually.” Arya slides off and he takes her by the hand up the stairs into his office.

His laptop is pushed aside and the desk top is littered with diagrams. He sits in his chair and pulls her onto his knee. Jaime explains he’s been trying to remember everything he could about the explosives he’d come across. Bombs strapped to cars, to people, animals. They’re all fairly powerful- yet most were simple.

“I was thinking simplicity. Low tech. But, if it’s _too_ simple-“

“Then it’ll be too easy to diffuse.” Arya interrupts.

“Exactly. So…what if we layered it? All the simple ways to detonate a bomb in one unit? Then it occurred to me, how do you diffuse a bomb? Working backwards, we can use the different ways to-“

Arya is enthralled. “-Working backwards you can utilize all the methods used to _diffuse_ it to _activate_ each simple detonation technique, right?”

Jaime isn’t saying anything, and she thinks maybe she misunderstood him. She swivels around and he has what she thinks is admiration on his face. “Where have you been all my life?”

Her cheeks burn and she scratches her nose. “I wasn’t born until you were old enough to drink.”

Jaime looks thoughtful. “Yeah. I suppose you’re right.”

 

Jaime says he’s taking her to dinner, and they walk to a place nearby. The place they go is more like what she expects from him. Hip, cool, and full of distressed wood.

When they return, Jaime goes to a bottom cabinet in the kitchen and pulls out a bottle of liquor and two glasses. Clinking them together in his hands he motions Arya to follow him up the stairs. “Grab your things.”

“You’ve never been up here,” he says once they’re upstairs past his bed. She’s confused, because she was literally up here a couple of hours ago. Then she sees what’s actually a door he pushes through and not floor to ceiling windows.

She steps out and it’s beautiful. This balcony has a view of Blackwater Bay and the other half of the city. Sitting at a small wooden table she takes in the surroundings.

Jaime opens the bottle. “We never did celebrate our little burglary.”

She smiles and looks out at the water. “That was really fucking awesome. I _can’t believe_ we got away with it. Did you ever find out why the shipments were tracked?”

“It’s much more controlled than I thought, and the state is very careful tracking such a volatile substance. I like to think of it as an act of a benevolent God that I found it.”

“Fuck,” she agrees. “Me too.”

“Do you know the monetary value of what we stole?” He asks her as he drinks.

She shakes her head and takes a drink of her own.

“A quarter of a million dollars.”

Arya is so startled by that she coughs up the drink where it sprays all over her lap and shirt. It burns her throat, making her cough even more. Wiping her face with her hand, she turns to him.

“Easy there. This is a $2000 bottle of Macallan,” he chuckles. That causes her eyes to widen further. “Do you want water?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer before getting up and kissing the top of her head while she tries to stop coughing. Shit, it somehow got in her _nose_.

Jaime comes back with a bottle of water and a plastic ashtray, and Arya gets up and places herself on Jaime’s lap.

“Right where you should be,” he mumbles as he wraps his arms around her. Arya circles her arms around his neck and rests her face on his head. Closing her eyes she breathes him in- the smell of his hair and skin-and sighs.

They don’t talk as Jaime drinks out of his glass and she motions for it. Hers is all the way across the table, and she certainly wasn’t going to get up for it. She does the same when he lights a cigarette.

She doesn’t know how long they sit there together in quiet contentment, but it’s long enough for a few refills of his glass and for dusk to fall around them.

Jaime turns his head and nuzzles her chest and squeezes her. She smiles to herself and kisses his head. When he leans back to look at her, she tilts her head and gives him a soft kiss on the lips.

His arms move, and he braces her as he stands up. He carries her bridal style into his room and their eyes never leave each other, even when he places her gently in the middle of his bed.

Jaime sits down and kicks his shoes off then pulls Arya’s sneakers off and tosses them. He scoots closer as she sits up and kisses him. He tastes like whisky and cigarettes, and when she runs her hands on the stubble along his jaw, it strikes her how utterly masculine he is. He’s so big and strong and _hers_.

He kisses his way to her neck and nips her earlobe with his teeth, and it sends a jolt through her body. She extends her neck to him, and he laps his tongue down to the hollow of her throat. Arya moves to take her shirt off and she shivers from the breeze from the open balcony door. She tugs at the hem of his shirt and in a second, his is off too and her breath hitches. Biting her lip, she runs a finger over his shoulder and down his arm, then his chest. It’s more of Jaime than she’s ever seen, and she loves it.

He cups the back of her head and guides her slowly down to the pillows. Jaime stares at her for a second, serious look on his face. She bats her eyelashes, wondering what he’s thinking when he kisses her so hard and desperately, it takes her breath away. And suddenly, it’s not enough. He’s not close enough to her, and she unbuttons her jeans and shimmies them down her hips, kicking them off and her socks in the process.

And Arya is in nothing but her bra and panties in Jaime Lannister’s bed.

Reaching down he runs his hands up her thigh and over her panties and he moans into her mouth. His hand is so warm and her body instinctually rolls to follow his touch. Arya’s hands flutter down to his waist and she fiddles with the buttons of his pants. He removes himself from her just long enough to scoot out of them and climb up next to her. Jaime pulls her close so that her body is aligned with his and he runs a hand up her back. She feels her bra loosened and she closes her eyes and shifts out of it.

Jaime palms a breast and releases a loud exhale. He leans down and flicks his tongue over her nipple and she whimpers and grips his duvet. He turns her a little to run his tongue over her other breast, and she thinks she can’t be any more ready for him than right now. She can feel the heat and wetness between her legs, and so does he when he slides a hand under her panties as he continues to use his tongue on her.

She wants him so very badly, she thinks she might die. Arya nudges his chin so he’ll kiss her mouth-he does and she takes the opportunity to reach down and gently caress him. He bites her lip and shudders as she does. He’s so _hard_ , it’s impossible to think how he’ll fit inside her. She tugs the waistband of his underwear and pushes them down as far as she can and he finishes the job for her. Her hand strokes him and the panties she’s wearing end up on the floor.

And this is it. Arya is both scared and eager-but the scared part of her dissipates when she thinks that she’ll be doing this with Jaime. Her first time will be with him, and this is what she wants…what she wants more than anything.

She pulls his body so that he’ll be on top of her, and he follows her lead. He’s poised over her, between her legs, and she lets out a shallow breath. She looks him in the eyes, and he’s looking at her in such awe that the moment seems so surreal. She cannot believe she’s right here, right now…

With trembling hands, she cups his face and slowly brings his mouth to hers. He lowers himself to rest on his elbows and she’s acutely aware of the sensation of the tip of him brushing against her. Her heart is beating so fast, it’s making her lightheaded, and she releases herself from Jaime’s kiss to look at him again.

“You’re mine and I’m yours,” he whispers.

“I’m yours, Jaime,” she whispers back. “ _Always_.”

And she keeps her eyes on him as he pushes into her until it’s all too much and she throws her head back and cries out.

 

“That was the first time I’ve done that. But, I guess that was obvious.” Arya says, clearing her throat. She wraps an arm around his middle. “I’ll get better with more practice.”

He lifts her chin up, and looks at her in confusion. “Arya, you are fucking perfect. That was… this is the first time I’ve done this with someone I love as much as I love you.”

Arya closes her eyes, feeling him run his fingers through his hair. This is what it feels like to be so loved.

* * *

When Jaime wakes up in the morning, he realizes there’s a naked Arya next to him. He smiles and kisses her shoulder as he hugs her tighter to him and she turns in his arms. She smiles back shyly.

“I really like waking up with you.”

“I would give anything to do this all the time,” he tells her truthfully. He kisses her nose and her cheeks and her shoulders before venturing further down her body.

Arya does get the practice she talked about. When he climbs up her body after eating her out he says, “I think I tasted myself inside that sweet little pussy of yours.”

She releases a breathy moan and bites her lip. “Please fuck me, Jaime.”

“What was that?” He teases as he pinches her nipple. Her body arches upwards and she grips his shoulders.

“Fuck me, _please_.”

He pinches her other nipple. Her hand reaches down and strokes him, and for a second he thinks he may finish right then.

Arya pulls him towards her. “Put your cock inside me,” she demands-and he happily does.

 

He gets up to go to the bathroom, and she stares at him in his pajama pants.

“What?” He asks, smiling at her.

She’s sitting up under his covers, sheet covering her chest. “Just admiring your _statuesque physique_.”

“ _This_ physique?” Jaime stands there, posing in exaggerated body building stances.

Arya laughs.

“Something funny about Liberty and Freedom?” He nods to each of his biceps. “These guns protected your freedom, little girl.”

She laughs so hard, she rolls onto her side. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

He laughs and tells her she can take a shower if she wants while he orders breakfast. She puts his t-shirt on from the floor and grabs her backpack.

“Why don’t you buy food at the store then make the food here. Are you that lazy? I know you can cook.” She says.

“It’s just me here,” he admits. “And, it’s boring to cook for myself. Why do you think I can cook?”

“That sandwich you made. The fancy one. I know you can. You can practically do _everything_ good.”

Jaime gives her a cocky smile. “ _Everything_?”

Arya blushes and rolls her eyes before shutting the door.

* * *

She bounds down the stairs as Jaime takes a shower. She bites her lip and decides to make coffee for him. Rifling through his kitchen she finds what she needs-and it makes her feel grown, or something. Arya could do this every day of her life with him.

His buzzer goes off and she glances at the stairs. He’s probably still in the bathroom, but he did say something about ordering food.

Arya pushes the button. “Yeah?”

“Cersei Baratheon is here.” A voice says from downstairs.

Oh no. Her eyes go up to the ceiling, listening if the water is still going. “Er, um…no thank you.” She releases the button and takes a step back. What is she _doing_ here?

Jaime’s phone rings from the kitchen island. She walks to it, and tries to stop herself from looking at it, not wanting to invade his privacy, but it catches her eye and sees Cersei’s name.

Turning back to the coffee maker, she attempts to ignore the four text message notifications. By the time she turns the coffee on, his phone rings two more times.

She’s leaning against the island, arms crossed over her chest staring at the coffee brewing when Jaime comes down the stairs.

“Did you make coffee? You really _are_ perfect.” He comes up to her and lifts her up on the counter. “Oh look, we’re both clean. I wonder how long it’ll take us to get dirty again,” he says as he begins kissing her neck.

“Cersei was here.” Arya says and Jaime releases a breath. “She called too. I didn’t mean to look, or anything.”

Jaime leans over and picks up his phone. “Why would I care if you see who’s calling me?” She shrugs and can’t help her small smile, despite her unease, at Jaime’s openness with her.

Arya tells Jaime about the stupid party her mother is planning and that he’s going to to be invited along with Cersei and Tyrion. They talk briefly about what Cersei could potentially be up to while Jaime pours them coffee.

“Why would she tell my parents? What would she even get out of it? You’re her brother, it’d only get _you_ in trouble.”

“She wouldn’t get anything out of it. And it’s because she’s a spiteful, hateful bitch-it doesn’t matter that I’m her brother.”

The food comes, and the subject of Cersei is dropped. Over omelets, they discuss the movement of the bomb from King’s Landing to Atlantic City. Arya can’t be gone for as many days as it takes to drive and Jaime volunteers to do it by himself.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Arya protests. “There’s no fucking way you’re doing it alone.”

“We don’t have a choice,” he tells her.

“Bullshit. We’ll figure something else out. I’m not risking you dying for it, Jaime.” She says angrily, food forgotten.

“What do you mean dying?” He asks her, confused.

“ _I mean_ that you’ll be driving a thousand pounds of explosives across the country and something could go wrong. What if it accidentally detonates along the way?” She can feel herself getting increasingly upset the more she thinks about it. “At least if I was with you, you wouldn’t be _alone_ exploding in a desert in Utah, or whatever.”

Jaime looks at her tenderly. “Arya.”

She ignores him, upset he even suggested such a thing- she doesn’t care if she’s being unreasonable.

“Arya, come here.”

“I don’t care if we forget the whole thing. I’m not…I’m not going to risk having you _hurt_ or _dead_ over it.”

“I won’t. We’ll figure something else out. Now will you please come here?”

She gets up and straddles his lap in the chair and squeezes him. Just the _thought_ of something happening to him…

“Oh my girl.” He says quietly holding her.

* * *

**_3 months, 17 days, 10 hours, 14 minutes_ **

Tyrion follows Jaime into the jewelry store. “Serious, is it?” He asks.

“It’s always been serious with her.” Jaime answers, as he walks around looking, hands in his pockets. “She spent the weekend with me.”

“Really?” Tyrion asks, intrigued. “And how is she?”

“Arya?” he frowns. “She’s fine.”

“I meant in bed.”

Jaime stops walking. “She’s… _perfect_.”

“I was hoping for a little more detail.” Tyrion says, eying a tennis bracelet. Jaime looks down at his brother. He’s not willing to admit to any specifics, but he likes not hiding this part of his life.

“I mean perfect,” Jaime says lowly. “The way she smells, the way she tastes- everything about her-if it were up to me she wouldn’t have left my bed until Sunday.”

Tyrion lifts both eyebrows and nods approvingly. “Ever since I saw her in your apartment that day, I wondered what she looked like underneath that plaid skirt and knee socks-“

“ _Don’t_ finish that sentence, Tyrion.” He says, but then adds, “Whatever you’re picturing…it’s better.”

Walking around, Jaime isn’t finding anything that catches his eye, until he sees a display case marked as ‘Antique/Vintage.’ When he looks down, he immediately finds what he wants. He waves a salesman over and asks to see it.

“Jaime,” his brother starts hesitantly, “you do realize the connotation behind this particular piece of jewelry.”

“Yes, I’m aware.” Jaime turns to the salesman and asks a few questions and he decides to buy it along with something else.

“Is that your intention?” Tyrion asks seriously. “She’s _sixteen_.”

“ _And I’m all too aware of that as well_.” Jaime glares at him. “And it isn’t my intention. It’s pretty and I know she’ll like it. Why don’t you find something for Shae?”

His little brother scoffs. “I’ve given that woman enough trinkets and baubles that she’ll live a lifetime without wearing them all.”

* * *

**_2 months, 26 days, 6 hours, 29 minutes_ **

 

School is out for the year, and Arya’s grades are better than they ever have been. Apparently, wanting to be with Jaime and free to plan a murder is an excellent motivator.

Her parents spring on them the plan for a family trip to Spain in August, and Arya asks to stay, saying she’ll be a senior and needs to take her studies seriously. Throwing in the mention of thinking about colleges is enough to give her parents pause. Her grades are such a surprise to them that they agree to let her stay behind because Sansa is staying too.

Arya smiles. Now she can go to Atlantic City without anyone saying anything.

* * *

**_2 months, 10 days, 12 hours, 1 minute_ **

 

“I hear you have a girlfriend at this party,” Shae says to Jaime.

Jaime’s eyes dart to the rearview mirror, catching Tyrion’s eye in the backseat. “ _Tyrion_.”

Fantastic. Jaime doesn’t even know Shae at all, and here she is with one of the bigger secrets in his life.

Tyrion stammers a bit. “Sorry, Jaime…I-Shae, it’s a sort of delicate situation with my brother and his girlfriend.”

“Delicate? How? Does she already have a boyfriend? Is she married to another man?”

“No,” Tyrion says, “That’s not it.”

“ _Tyrion_.” Jaime says again as a warning.

“Oh Jaime. Shae’s a modern woman, she’ll understand. It’s better to know ahead of time anyway.”

Jaime sighs. “Arya’s…a bit younger than I am.” He says it quietly, and hopes it’s just left at that.

“Arya’s sixteen. The party we’re going to is thrown by her parents.” His brother volunteers.

Jaime grits his teeth and exhales loudly. Oh good, he thinks. Another person who will line up to tar and feather him. Just fucking great.

He can feel Shae looking at him. “So what? Where I’m from girls love older men. They’re better looking and more stable,” she turns to look at Tyrion in the backseat, “they also make better lovers.”

He certainly didn’t expect _that_.

 

Ned Stark is the first person he sees entering the Stark’s home. Tyrion shakes his hand and chats a bit, introducing Shae.

Over Ned’s shoulder he spots Arya with her two friends not too far away from him. She’s wearing denim cutoff shorts and a t-shirt, and the youthful glow she has warms him. He runs his eyes up her bare legs-legs that were wrapped around his waist just a few days ago, and he has to fight the urge to pick her up and run away with her.

Arya turns to see Jaime, and she beams.

“Jaime, how are you?” Ned is talking to him, hand extended. Jaime pulls himself together and shakes his hand. He’s about to speak when he hears something.

“’Arry. Your boyfriends her-“

Jaime watches as Arya throws an entire cup of soda on Lommy’s shirt.

“ _Shit_ , sorry Lommy. Fuck-I-,” Arya turns to where her father and Jaime are standing. “Sorry, Father. I meant shoot-er-fuck.” Ned gives her a queer look, and she’s causing such a ruckus, Jaime sees her brother Robb turn to look at her as well.

She grabs Lommy by the wrist and pulls. “I’ll get you one of Bran’s shirts. C’mon, Hot Pie.”

Hot Pie looks down at himself. “I don’t need a shirt.”

“ _Hot Pie_ ,” she says bounding up the stairs, Lommy in tow. Hot Pie sighs and lumbers after them, plate of food in hand.

Ned turns back to Jaime, and for a brief second he thinks Ned’s eyes narrow at him. Jaime smiles and chuckles awkwardly.

“Ned,” Tyrion says holding up a bottle of wine. “I brought this for Catelyn. I believe this is from her favorite vineyard.”

As Ned turns his attention to Tyrion, Jaime takes a breath and takes the opportunity to wander off, thankful to be away from Ned’s gaze. Jaime says polite hellos and stops to chat when Roose Bolton gets his attention.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Arya again. He watches as some man stops her and she smiles and talks to him. Jaime frowns because she seems happy to, and now he wonders who he is exactly. Slowly, he makes his way towards them.

“I haven’t been able to practice,” he hears her say. “My mother said I had to stop practicing with Bran because I almost knocked him off the second floor landing once.”

“One cannot improve without constant work.” The man says. And as soon as he hears the accent, he realizes it’s that Jaqen guy. Jaime stares at the back of Jaqen’s head, wondering how long a fight would last before Jaime could knock him out.

“I know,” Arya says. “I want to, it’s just that I don’t have anyone to fight with.”

“I believe I’ve offered my services. I’d be most pleased to help. A good teacher is only as good as his student-and you are a most excellent student.”

Jaime can’t help himself and stands next to Arya. She looks up at him, wide-eyed.

“Arya, may I speak to you a moment?” Jaime asks politely.

There’s alarm in her face and she darts her eyes around. “Uh, sure. Would you excuse us, Jaqen?” Jaqen eyes Jaime and smiles at Arya before taking his leave.

“That Russian is flirting with you,” Jaime says annoyed.

“What? No, he wasn’t.”

“He _was_.”

Arya lifts an eyebrow and looks at him expectantly.

“I have something for you.” He tells her. Arya looks around again and tells him to meet her on the side of the house. She leaves one way and he leaves another.

Once they’re outside, Jaime opens her hand and places his gift to her in it, curling her fingers over it. She opens her hand and stares.

“It’s so pretty.” Arya says breathless, lifting it up. A thin chain holds an antique ring made of rose gold. The band is woven leaves with small diamonds at each point, with a round cut diamond in the center. Even the brackets that hold the stone are small leaves. “Jaime, I love it.”

She hands it over, and turns around and he places it around her neck. She moves to embrace him, but stops herself and they both shove their hands in their pockets. Arya looks up at him with large eyes.

“I should probably get back,” she says quietly, and Jaime nods. He watches her walk away, turning to look over her shoulder at him and he melts a little.

 

He sits with Tyrion in wrought iron chairs in the backyard. He looks at Sansa Stark chatting with Shae and another girl, comparing shoes and dresses. It’s a contrast when he sees Arya and her friends. Arya’s head is back, laughing loudly at the fat boy who has the tall boy in a headlock-while the tall boy keeps trying to punch his way out of the hold. It makes him laugh a little, too.

“So where’s Cersei? I thought she’d be here.” Tyrion says drinking roughly eight ounces of scotch out of a glass.

“Hopefully far away from me, and far away from the Starks.” Jaime says.

“Why is that?”

“Why do you think? She knows about me and Arya, Tyrion.” He sighs and looks at his brother.

Tyrion coughs and puts his drink down. “You _can’t_ be serious. _Shit_ , Jaime-“

“I don’t think she’ll say anything,” Jaime says.

“And why would you think that? That miserable bitch doesn’t want anyone happy-“

“Because Arya and I _know_ something about her and Joffrey. And we’re all just going to stand around, dangling what we know over each other’s heads until something happens.”

“What do you know and what if that something is Cersei?”

“I’ll tell you later, and trust me, it won’t be.”

Jaime looks up to see Arya toying with the ring he gave her. She lifts it up to her lips and listens to whatever her friends are saying.

He won’t let Cersei near Arya. Not now, not ever.

Arya’s cousin Jon steps through the French doors then and as soon as Jon finds Arya he scoops her up and spins her around. Arya laughs and Jon puts her down and hugs her, burying his face in her hair for a second.

Jaime witnesses this with growing unease and recognition.

Jon rubs his hands up and down her arms and talks to her. She must say something he doesn’t like, because he drops his hands and stares at her. And now Jaime takes a deep breath because Jon is headed towards him, Arya staring helplessly.

“I need to speak to you,” Jon says as he approaches.

Jaime waves at a free chair next to him.

“Alone.” Is all he says before walking away.

Tyrion gives him a worried look as Jaime follows. They make their way behind a vine covered gazebo.

“Are you going to hit me _here_?” Jaime says tilting his head. “You should have done it back there, show everyone how you’re the valiant defender of helpless young maidens.”

“Shut up, Lannister,” Jon spits out. “What are you doing with her?”

Jaime is about to open his mouth, spew out the usual sarcasm and taunts whenever he’s confronted in such a way, but something stops him. The boy is so fucking _earnest_ and it reminds him of Arya. He decides on honesty.

“I’m taking care of her. I’m not going to harm her, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

A disgusted look crosses Jon’s face. “You’re _too old_ for her. She’s in _high school_ , for fuck’s sake.”

Jaime braces his hands on his hips and looks directly into the boy’s eyes. “And you’re her cousin.” If Jaime’s going to be honest, he’ll do it completely.

“ _What_?”

“Arya loves me, and I love her. I suspect I’m not the only one.” Jaime’s not letting him out of this clash unscathed. “I don’t think I’m wrong.”

He expects Jon to hang his head, or deny it, but he doesn’t. “It doesn’t matter how I feel. Unlike you, I refuse to act on something I know is wrong. You’re manipulating her-“

“ _Manipulating_ her?” It’s Jaime’s turn to be angry. “Do you know her at all? I couldn’t if I tried.”

“This ends _now_.” Jon says, squaring up to him.

“I hate to disappoint you boy, but it _ends_ when Arya and I decide it does,” Jaime slowly takes steps towards Jon, voice cold. “And what exactly do you plan to do? Going to run to Uncle and Auntie? Go ahead, I can’t stop you- but let me tell you that if you do, Arya will _never_ forgive you.”

They stare at each other for along moment. “I love Arya more than anything in this world,” Jaime says seriously. “And I’m not going to let _anyone_ hurt her.”

Jon clenches his fists, but takes a step back. “If I hear one word about you-if you’ve pressured her in any way, Lannister-I will come after you.”

Jaime can tell he’s serious, and he respects that. Jon is at least accepting it for what it is for now, if only for Arya.

“I understand.”

Jon turns and leaves and Jaime waits a beat before following. He sees Jon give Arya a quick kiss on the head before going inside the house. Arya watches him, then turns to find Jaime. Jaime gives her a slight nod, letting her know everything is okay for now and her body sags with relief.

* * *

**_2 months, 4 days, 6 hours, 56 minutes_ **

 

“How do you know he’ll do it?” Arya lights a cigarette on the balcony, knees against her chest in the chair.

“That’s…kind of his profession, I guess you could say,” Jaime answers. “He knows all the ins and outs of the criminal underbelly. I don’t know why I didn’t think of him sooner.”

Arya was relieved when Jaime said he knew someone who could potentially help move the bomb across the country. It was the one thing that she just couldn’t figure out.

The buzzer sounds and Jaime answers and Arya leans on the back of the couch waiting, unsure of what to expect. When he comes to the door, Arya is a little disappointed. He just looks like a guy. Maybe a sort of rough guy, but still.

“Bronn, this is Arya. Arya, Bronn. I knew him from the Marines.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bronn says. “Semper fi and all that horsehit.”

Bronn and Jaime talk and catch up a bit as Arya listens. She actually likes Bronn- he’s rude and crass and has an impressive vocabulary.

Jaime asks if Bronn wants a drink as he goes to his bar.

“’Course I do. Got any good stuff?” Bronn asks sitting at the dining room table.

“All I’ve got is good stuff,” Jaime says offended. He takes a bottle and three glasses to the table and Arya joins them.

“You’re lucky,” Bronn says to Jaime, eyeing Arya. “The only reason I wished I had kids of my own was to impart all my wisdom on them. Got a boy working for me though, he’s a good lad.” Bronn picks up the bottle and reads the label.

Jaime takes the bottle out of his hand and pours. “Arya’s not my daughter.” He says it so casually, as if it’s an assumption he’s familiar with.

But she’s horrified. “What? Jaime’s…he’s not my father.” Is this what people think when they’re seen together?

Bronn considers the two of them seated next to each other at the table. “Okay, then.” He shrugs. “Let’s get down to business. You tell me what you want, I’ll tell you how much it’ll cost ya.”

“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The GPS tracker on the lid of the crate of wildfire is inspired by Breaking Bad-with Jesse and the methylamine.


	8. 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> familiar faces, new names, death, and love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to those still interested. Happy Season 8 day!

 

**_2 months, 4 days, 6 hours, 50 minutes remain_ **

 

“So, what am I driving across the country? Guns? Drugs? People? I understand it’s a need to know thing, but at least give me an idea.”

“A bomb.” Arya says.

“A… _what_?” Bronn chuckles. “No really.”

“Really,” she says seriously. “It’s a thousand pounds of wildfire.”

Bronn looks to Jaime, apparently convinced by the look on his face. “What the fuck _for_?”

Jaime tells him everything as Bronn drinks.

“I’m doubling my prices-including travel expenses.”

Arya flinches. “How much?”

“Don’t worry about that,” Jaime says to her.

“Of course I am. We’re splitting it.”

“Arya.”

“What?”

Jaime tugs her hand and pulls her into his lap. She wraps her arms around his neck as he says, “I have more money than I know what to do with, darling. I’ll handle it.”

Arya frowns at him. “That’s not _fair_.”

Jaime narrows his eyes at her playfully. “Kiss me.”

She snorts and leans down to kiss him.

“There,” Jaime says. “You’ve paid your share.”

“Hardly,” she says pulling away, smiling at him.

“Hardly? Is that you’re way of saying you’re willing to perform other tasks in lieu of monetary compensation for this man’s services?” Jaime asks smiling back, eyebrow raised.

“To him or to you?” She laughs.

Jaime pinches her side and she laughs louder. “ _To me_ , you saucy thing. And with that attitude, I expect all debts paid in full at my discretion.”

Playing with his hair on the back of his head, she brings him up to her face. “Shall I begin now, then?” She gives him a quick kiss. “I know how Lannisters are with debts and all-you can even charge me interest.”

“ _Really_?” Jaime asks, holding her tighter and pulling her in for another kiss.

Bronn loudly sucks his teeth, forcing Arya and Jaime to focus their attention on him. “I’m pretty fucking glad you aren’t father and daughter. Whose idea was this anyway?”

Embarrassed, Arya laughs as Jaime shifts around in his seat.

“Ours.”

“Hers.”

Bronn sits back and pats his shirt pocket. Lifting a pack of cigarettes, he waves them as permission to smoke inside. Jaime motions indifferently.

“ _Your_ idea, eh?” Bronn says to Arya. “Say…you got a sister- _better yet_ , your mother around?”

She wrinkles her nose. “Yeah my mother’s around…busy being married to my father.”

“Just curious if your father wants a little healthy competition.”

Arya elbows Jaime, “Jaime said she was hot.”

“I _said_ she was pretty when we were in _high school_ -“

“Yeah, right,” Arya teases. “Is that why you’re with me? Trying to get to my mother?”

“Do I look like Littlefinger?” Jaime flinches.

“Jaime,” Arya scolds, “he’s with my sister.” She thinks a second before adding, “You know what’s weird? It’s almost like him and Sansa are…up to something.”

“What could they possibly be up to?” Jaime questions.

Bronn interrupts, annoyed.   “Hello? We’re talking about an act of domestic terrorism in a highly crowded, tourist city. Can we focus?”

Arya turns in Jaime’s lap, sitting up straight. “Why do you care? You’ll just be driving there.” she says.

“Could be I want in- chance to flex my muscles a bit. You could use me anyway.” Bronn slides the pack of cigarettes across the table. “You done the recce?” He asks Jaime.

“Can’t,” Jaime answers, taking a cigarette. “Place is just now being built. Won’t be done until the end of August.”

“Going at it blind?” Bronn sucks his teeth again, and thinks.

“Semper Gumby, I have the blue prints. It’s more useful anyway.” Jaime pats Arya, and she stands up as she tries to decipher their lingo.

Once Jaime goes upstairs to get them, Bronn looks at her. “How old are you?”

Arya’s face hardens, instinctually defensive. “Why?”

“No reason,” Bronn says lightly. “Just curious. I aint going to say nothing-I don’t give a shit.”

“I’ll be seventeen in a couple of months.” Arya says. She hates this. Of course no one takes her seriously aside from Jaime.

He tilts his head and nods. “Impressive. You’re only sixteen, but you came up with this?”

“…No, not all of it,” she answers, surprised. “I mean, it was originally my idea, but me and Jaime figured out most of it together.”

“You know,” Bronn starts as he pours more alcohol into his glass, “if you weren’t with my friend here, I’d say I got that boy working for me-could use a smart girl like you.”

Arya looks at him puzzled, and Jaime notices her expression when he comes down the stairs.

“What are you saying to her, Bronn?” He unrolls the papers, using their glasses and the bottle to hold them down.

“Me? Nothing.”

They all look down at the table as Bronn slowly flips through.

“We want the whole building gone, because I want Joffrey dead no matter where he is inside.” Arya says, taking a breath. “So, when I calculated the calorimetry, I factored in the square footage from the blue prints in order to ensure the energy released would be enough to do that-but,” she nudges Bronn aside to go through to the pages, “it’d have to be here. On the fourth floor, which is where the money is kept. That’s the problem. How do we get it up there once it’s in the city?”

Bronn looks at Jaime before frowning at Arya. “Forget what I said earlier, girl. If you ever decide to leave this twat, _I_ sure would appreciate a young, smart thing like-“

“ _Bronn_ ,” Jaime snaps. “Watch your mouth. I can still take you.”

“Relax. I’m just saying,” Bronn says.

“Well don’t.”

Arya watches the exchange, baffled, although it is kind of flattering that Jaime’s jealousy is clear. She walks around the table to him and wraps his arm around her. He shifts himself behind her and curls the other arm around her protectively. She leans her face down so her mouth rests on his forearm, feeling the hair tickle her nose.

“The maintenance elevator goes to the fourth floor.” Bronn notices.

“I know. But, it’ll be only accessible with an employee keycard.” Jaime sighs and kisses Arya’s hair.

“That aint a problem. I can get a half a dozen blank keycards-make it work.”

“So you in with us? We haven’t discussed a price aside from just driving.” Jaime asks and Arya watches Bronn carefully. They _could_ use his help, considering he has resources they don’t.

“I’m in.” Bronn says, extending his hand. “But my boy needs in on it too.”

“Alright,” Jaime says shaking his hand.

Bronn moves and extends his hand to Arya. “Deal?”

Arya smiles. “Deal.”

“We’ll need fake IDs.”

Arya turns and looks up at Jaime. “Why?”

“Plane tickets. You and I don’t want our names anywhere near the East Coast at that time. Plus, if you and I get stopped or…I don’t know, whatever, we’ll have them.”

Arya turns to Bronn. “Can you do that? Oh, can you make me twenty-one? I want to go to a bar.”

* * *

**_2 months, 1 day, 0 hours, 33 minutes_ **

 

He slides a hand up from the back of her knee, over her ass and up her back. She shivers and closes her eyes. Arya’s naked on her stomach, arms dangling off the foot of his bed. The balcony door is open, letting in the summer night breeze.

“What are you thinking about?” Jaime asks her quietly.

Arya brings her arms up and folds them under her chin. “The future, I guess. I’ll be done with school soon enough,” she blows air out of her cheeks, “then I’ll be eighteen and I can do whatever I want.”

“And what do you want?”

“Not college. I don’t really know, I guess. I want to travel. I’ve gone all over with my family, but no matter where we went, we’d always have to stop every hour because Rickon was tired or throwing a fit. I want to see the world, you know? See it on my own…or…” She shrugs, unwilling to finish the thought out loud, because she doesn’t want to assume Jaime would be willing to do that with her.

Jaime props himself on his elbow to face her. “ _Or_?” He asks tugging her hair.

Arya breathes out a small laugh, recalling a similar conversation the two of them had not too long ago. “Or…with you. If you wanted.”

“And why wouldn’t I want to?” Jaime pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, smiling. His eyes shine, and it takes Arya a second to gather her thoughts.

“I…that’s like a year or so from now.” She’s trying to be mature and doesn’t want to assume they’ll be together. Life isn’t a song, or a happy ending-people get together and break up all the time. People get married and get divorced all the time. And, although she can feel it in the marrow of her bones that Jaime is who she is destined to be with…it doesn’t mean things won’t happen.

“Hm. I almost find it offensive, Arya Stark, that I don’t factor into your future plans when you are very much a part of mine.” He lays on his back then, crossing his arms under his head.

“Do I?” She asks, heart beating at a rapid staccato.

“I didn’t tell you?” Jaime says to the ceiling. “I’ve already decided I’m spending the rest of my life with you,” he turns his head to look at her, “no? I didn’t mention it?”

“Shut up, Jaime.”

“What kind of girl are you? A man- _like me_ -is telling you that you’re literally the only woman I want to be with, and you tell me to shut up?”

“A man _like you_? You’re the _only_ man for me.” Arya says.

“There are no men like me. Only me.” He turns on his side to face her and hooks his finger around the necklace she’s wearing and pulls gently. When she’s close enough, he presses a soft kiss to her lips. “And I _am_ the only man for you.”

Arya’s heart is filled with joy, and she wonders how deep one can fall in love. Just when she thinks she couldn’t possibly feel any stronger-fall any deeper, he manages to surprise her.

“Wait-do you mean the rest of your life or mine? I guess you still have a few good years in you.”

Jaime looks at her, incredulous. “A _few_ good years?” He says as he begins tickling her side. “Look here, little girl. You’re stuck with me until one of us is dead-and if you keep this up, it’ll be me-because of that sassy mouth of yours.”

Arya’s head is back, laughing so hard she can’t catch her breath. She’s kicking her feet and trying to bat Jaime’s hands away. He finally stops, and rolls so he’s on top of her, pinning her down with his weight. Resting on his forearms, he kisses her nose.

“Do you really mean it?” Arya asks, caught in his eyes.

“I have never meant anything more.”

* * *

**_1 month, 24 days, 11 hours, 8 minutes_ **

 

Its taken Jaime nearly seven days in Maidenpool to finish. Once he figured it out, he burned all the other diagrams unceremoniously in his fireplace.

And the end result? A masterpiece, if he does say so himself. He’s built it on a rolling deck, so that it could be rolled anywhere thus eliminating the need for lifting-which would potentially increase the chances of it detonating. Jaime had the problem of detonating it at a select time, and decided on a cell phone-once the phone was called, the vibrations would knock loose a metal pin, completing a circuit.

And now it stands, one thousand pounds, encased in a steel box, the size of a small washing machine.

Now the issue was getting Joffrey alone in order to manually discharge it.

 

He’s only been home an hour after driving from Maidenpool when the buzzer sounds, announcing his sister. Jaime groans and curses-he’d been hoping to see Arya since he’s been out of town for a week-but now he has to deal with Cersei and whatever bullshit she’s bringing with her, because he can’t avoid her forever.

“What are you doing here?” He asks tiredly.

“You’ve been ignoring me,” she says, eyeing the apartment.

“And people say Tyrion’s the smart Lannister,” Jaime quips as he sits down in an armchair. “What do you want, Cersei? You could have come to the Starks’-I was there.”

Cersei walks slowly around before making her way to the couch. He’s wondering what exactly she’s looking for when it occurs to him that his apartment has scattered bits of Arya all around. A pink hooded sweatshirt draped over a dining room chair, a pair of earrings on the kitchen island, a tin of lip balm and a hair tie on the coffee table. Arya has infiltrated his space, has become such an integral part of it, he hadn’t really noticed.

“And tolerate all the pitying looks I’d get as the poor, grieving widow? I see you’re still with that teenaged slut of yours.”

“You’ve come all this way to ask me that?”

Cersei sighs and smiles softly. “I’ve missed you, dear brother.” She leans back and crosses her legs slowly. “Surely you can’t be too busy for me.”

He notices she’s half sitting on a throw blanket-the blanket he wrapped Arya in as they took a nap one afternoon after he made love to her on that couch. When he refocuses on Cersei, she seems more and more ridiculous. Jaime knows what she’s trying to do, and he’s almost embarrassed for her.

“I am, actually. So will you kindly do me a favor and tell me what you want?”

Cersei looks down at her feet. “I need Father’s money.”

Jaime gives her a confused look. “Do I _look_ like father to you? I certainly hope not considering I haven’t shit myself and fallen over dead.”

“Don’t speak about him like that. And I just need you to help me take over his estate-“

“ _Take over his estate_ ,” he repeats in disbelief. “The _government_ tied up his estate, Cersei, for tax evasion charges. What do you think I can do?”

“I don’t know, but I need your help. I’m desperate, Jaime.”

“Talk to Baelish-“

“I can’t talk to him,” Cersei says shrilly. “I think he’s the one who is in on it. As soon as Father died the IRS jumped all over it-Baelish must have been the one to blow the whistle. I bet it’s him and worthless Margaery Tyrell together. The Tyrells-“

“ _What_?” Jaime exclaims. “What are you… _talking_ about? It’s noon, have you been drinking already?”

“This isn’t funny.”

“I’m not laughing.” Jaime scrubs a hand over his face. “But this conversation is driving me to drink. If it’s the family money you’re after I can’t help you. Why don’t you speak to that shithead son of yours?”

“Joffrey won’t listen to a word I say. He’s under the influence of that awful Tyrell girl. And now you…so wrapped up in that Stark bitch-“

“Careful, Cersei,” Jaime warns. He’s not going to let Cersei rile him up-her words mean nothing to him, but he’s knee-jerk reaction about Arya can’t be helped.

His sister stands up and walks towards him, demeanor changed. “Why? Afraid to hear something you’re not going to like? Do you think a teenaged girl _wants_ to fuck a man twice her age? She’s trying to get something out of it. I wouldn’t be surprised if you weren’t the only old man she’s taken to bed. The Stark’s are close to the Boltons. Perhaps she’s spread her legs for Roose as well. And Robert? Well, the girl was practically flaunting herself in front of him.”

Jaime stares at her and stands up, cocking his head. He’s more amused than angry.

“Robert? Oh, yes. What every girl dreams about-a fat, drunk piece of shit. And whatever you’re trying to do isn’t working. It almost makes me think you’re jealous.” Cersei’s eyes flash and she turns away. “You _are_ , aren’t you? You’re not jealous because I’m in love with her and Arya’s in love with me, or even because she’s a better person than you could ever hope to be-you’re jealous because she’s _younger_ and _prettier_.”

“You’re delusional.” She says, back still turned.

“Am I? I think you lay awake at night, seething over the fact that I found someone. Arya is absolutely magnificent, did you know that? Her flawless skin, those perky breasts…” Jaime moves so that he’s directly behind her. “A sweet, _tight_ little cunt that I bury my face and cock in every chance I get.”

Cersei turns on him, and slaps him so hard he sees stars.

Jaime just laughs. “You’re not jealous at all.”

“What happened to us Jaime?” Her eyes are filled with tears. “It was you and I once. I _need_ you.”

He rubs his cheek where it still stings. Ten years ago, fuck, five years ago he would’ve done anything she asked of him. He was so caught up in her, he couldn’t see straight. Somewhere in his life he had twisted up familial love with romantic love and it warped his sense of who he is and what it means to love someone. They used to tell each other that together they were whole. The other half of one another. But that wasn’t true at all-he was whole on his own. Jaime Lannister wasn’t just Cersei’s twin brother, or Tyrion’s big brother, or Tywin’s son (the Golden Son, which all the expectations were placed.)

_He’s more than that._

Maybe it took finding Arya for him to really see it. That here is this one person who loves him for everything he truly is. Arya’s love is so pure and untainted-she loves so wholeheartedly and without apology- perhaps he isn’t the wretched disappointment he secretly thought himself.

Jaime looks at his sister’s pleading green eyes and thinks of Arya Stark’s grey ones. They’re alike in some ways, Arya and Cersei. Both are feisty, clever, beautiful…but that’s where their similarities ended. Cersei expected loyalty no matter how she treated Jaime, where Arya’s expectations of him were simple…to be honest and true and love her as she does him.

“There’s nothing I can do.” He tells her plainly.

“There is.” Cersei insists. “Forget about Arya Stark. Come home to me, Jaime. It’ll be just like we talked about. You and I together, not having to hide-I need you. I’m going to lose the house-“

“Are you asking me to move in with you?” He asks in complete shock. “And do what? _Support you_? Let me see if I understand correctly. You want me to move in with you, financially support you, and then…you and I play a perverted version of house?”

“Robert’s dead…and I’m alone. You know you and I are meant to be together.” She reaches up and places her palms on Jaime’s chest, and he violently bats them away.

“ _No_ , Cersei.”

She fixes him with a hard glare for a few moments. “Fine, then.” She says quietly and turns to leave. She’s almost to the door when she stops.

“You won’t need any money once you’re locked up, I suppose.” She begins to open the door, when Jaime slams it shut. He pushes her against it, bracing his hands on either side of her head. Because he’s angry now.

“Let me make one thing clear,” he says through clenched teeth. “I am _done_ with you threatening me. You’ve stooped so low you’re trying to blackmail me, and I’m not having it. The moment-the _very fucking moment_ \- you open your mouth to _anyone_ , I will go straight to the police. You don’t think I know the Cleganes? I know exactly where to find them, and you better believe that Sandor will be the one to flip on Joffrey at a moments notice. Then guess what? Your precious little boy won’t hesitate to say it was your idea.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” she whispers defiantly.

Jaime feels the anger and frustration course through him, and punches the wall next to her head as she flinches. “ _Try me_ , you crazy bitch. You mention one more fucking word about Arya, and I will end you.” The pain radiates from his knuckles up his arm, but he ignores it. He’s had enough. Enough of wondering if she’s crazy enough to hurt Arya or worrying whether or not Cersei will follow through.

“Not. Another. Word.”

* * *

**_1 month, 21 days, 7 hours, 10 minutes_ **

 

Arya’s head is in his lap, and he plays with her hair. “I wish I could see it,” she says.

“It isn’t much to look at from the outside, but inside? I’m actually a genius.”

She looks up at him. “You’re fucking awesome, Jaime. I wish I could have helped, though.”

“You’ll have to figure out how to get Joff alone inside.” Jaime tilts his head back on the back of the couch. “Once it’s found, they’ll cordon off like, five blocks surrounding it. How do we…get him alone without anyone else knowing, or following?”

Arya thinks a second before gasping and sitting up so quickly, she almost knocks her head into Jaime’s chin. “I think I’ve got it.”

Jaime listens to her plan, and smiles. He’s about to pull her onto his lap and show her how much he admires her when the buzzer sounds letting them know Bronn is here.

 

“ _Podrick_?” Arya stands in Jaime’s living room, completely flabbergasted.

“Nan?”

“ _Nan_?” Jaime looks to her.

“You two know each other?” Bronn asks.

Arya turns to Jaime, pained look on her face. “Podrick was the _security guard_.”

Jaime blinks at Podrick, comprehension dawning on him. “Right. Who’s Nan?”

Arya apologetically holds her hand out to Podrick. “My name’s Arya, not Nan. It really was nice to meet you.”

Podrick takes it, confused.

“How do we know each other?” Bronn says perusing the bottles of liquor. Picking one, he brings it to the table.

“Podrick helped me change a tire once,” she says guiltily, letting go of his hand. “At the Rosby mine…where me and Jaime stole the wildfire.”

“That was…” Podrick starts, scratching his head, “that wasn’t true, then?”

Arya feels awful, because she does like him. “The tire? It really was flat…only because I let the air out. I’m really sorry.”

“It was a distraction? So you could steal stuff from the mine?” Podrick frowns at his feet for a moment before looking at her. “I think I’m sort of angry about that.”

“You didn’t get in trouble, did you?”

Podrick stops and thinks. “No, actually. They never said a word. To me, that is. I still work there.”

Bronn pours liquor into his glass and laughs loudly. “Shit. _That’s_ where it all came from. What a fucking strange world we live in.”

Jaime slumps into a chair, and Arya sits in his lap and shakes her head. Strange doesn’t even cover it.

“So you’re the one that works with Bronn?” Jaime asks.

Podrick nods. “Whose car…is that your car?” He asks Arya.

Arya looks at him, shocked. “Oh no. It’s his,” she nods to Jaime.

“It’s a really nice car.”

“I know,” Jaime says wrapping an arm around Arya to grab his glass.

Bronn squints at Podrick. “What kind of car does this dildo own?”

Arya snorts as Podrick answers. “An Aston Martin DB11.”

Bronn slams his drink down and points a finger at Jaime. “ _That’s it_. Next time we work together, I’m tripling my prices _James Bond_.” Arya can feel the low rumble of Jaime’s body as he tries to hide his laughter at Bronn who mutters to himself about rich motherfuckers.

Podrick sits at the table as they discuss logistics and how long the drive will take the two of them, when Bronn mentions the IDs.

“We can go right now if you want. Gotta get one for the boy too.”

“How old are you?” Arya asks Podrick. He’s probably close to Robb’s age, although it’s hard to tell.

“Twenty. Just turned twenty.”

“Oh. I’m almost seventeen,” she chews her lip. “I told Bronn I wanted to be twenty-one. Do you think I’d pass?”

Pod looks at her and shrugs. “Sure. A small twenty-one.”

She grins. “Can we go now, then?” She asks Jaime eagerly.

Jaime pulls back and looks at her, and she knows that’s his way of saying he wants her to kiss him, so she does. She does it again for good measure, and also because she could spend all day doing it.

He hums and kisses her back, and she hears Bronn heave an exasperated sigh at them.

 

“I can’t believe you won’t let me take this for a spin,” Bronn says from the backseat of Jaime’s car. “You let the girl drive it, for fuck’s sake.”

Jaime scoffs. “Well…that’s _different_.”

Arya tries to hide her smile considering that he had no qualms whatsoever about having her drive his car before, while Bronn is a grown adult with a driver’s license.

Bronn directs them to a decrepit looking bar on the outskirts of Flea Bottom. The parking lot is cracked in places and the weathered sign showed the silhouette of a woman on a pole.

“Jesus, Bronn. I feel like I’m going to contract hepatitis by just looking at this place.” Jaime frowns.

Arya laughs as Bronn just says, “Don’t touch anything. Especially the girls.”

When they go inside, it’s dim and smoky and just as worn as the outside. She looks to Pod who looks thoroughly uncomfortable as Bronn leads them to the back through some doors, and Jaime takes her hand.

They pass through the dressing room for the dancers and it smells like cigarettes and perfume and the women are in various stages of dress. It makes her feel so glaringly young and out of place. Arya glances at Jaime who has a look of distaste across his features- the typical Lannister snobbery she knows so well.

He takes them to a man who doesn’t say anything, but lines them all up in front of a sheet one at a time and takes their pictures as Bronn explains what it is they want. The silent man just nods.

When they reach the bar again, they all take a seat in a booth. “We’ll have drink and wait till they’re ready.” Bronn says as he waves a waitress over.

Arya sits rigidly next to Jaime, waiting for the moment someone will call her out-ask her what she’s doing here, since she’s clearly underage. But the half-dressed waitress doesn’t even glance at her as Bronn orders.

It doesn’t take long as they’re drinks arrive along with a small manila envelope. Bronn takes it and shakes the contents out onto the table then siding the new IDs to each owner. Arya looks at hers. She’s twenty-one in it, and she peeks at Jaime’s and she realizes they have the same last name.

“Nan and Jim Snow?” She asks, looking at Bronn.

Bronn takes a drink. “Figured you two would be married, since you’re always so fucking moony over each other.” He explains.

Jaime puts his in his back pocket and wraps an arm around Arya. “Did you hear that, wife? I am fucking _moony_ over you.”

Arya blushes. “I heard, husband. You ought to reign it in a bit-you’re getting a bit clingy.”

“Of course I’m clingy,” Jaime says more to Bronn, “I turn my back for a second and men are trying to snatch you away.”

“You can’t fault me. Just letting the girl know she has options,” Bronn states good-naturedly.

Arya knows he’s not serious and rolls her eyes before turning to Pod. “Can I see yours?” He hands it over. “You’re twenty-one too? We should go out together and get into bar fights.”

Pod laughs a little into his glass. “Don’t think I’d be a good partner in that. Can’t take a punch.”

* * *

Jaime watches as Arya and Podrick play pool from his seat. She spins around a little and pretends to whack him with her stick as he puts up a weak defense and she laughs.

What a stunning girl. He watches as she bends over to take a shot and he inhales at the sight. A stunning girl that’s all his. Apparently, he’s not the only one that thinks so because he sees a couple of scumbags milling about the other table checking her out too. Even Podrick notices-the next time it’s her turn he’s standing next to her stick in hand, glaring at them.

And then it strikes Jaime like lightning. Arya is so young-she has so much to offer the world. He thinks of all the places she’s hasn’t been, people she hasn’t yet met…   She catches his eye and he smiles, but there’s something unfurling in his chest. What is she _doing_ with an old man like him?

* * *

**_1 month, 14 days, 13 hours, 58 minutes_ **

 

“Can I use the Maidenpool house?” Tyrion asks.

Jaime freezes and readjust the phone at his ear. “I…what for?”

“I just wanted to take Shae somewhere for the weekend. You never use it anyway.”

“Oh uh…” Jaime runs through the last visit in his mind. He had swept everything off the work tables and floors of the garage, burned all the plans, the garbage bags must be long gone by now…he must have locked the garage doors. If the bomb was found, would anyone even know what it was?

“That’s,” Jaime clears his throat, “fine. It’s fine.”

“…Okay. I’ll be over later for the keys, and then perhaps you can enlighten me as to what is going on with Cersei.”

There’s a knock at the door, and Arya steps in, hesitant when she notices he’s on the phone. He waves her in.

“Yeah…I’ll see you.”

Arya tells him she’s free for the night-her parents are at some conference and won’t be home until the next afternoon, much to his delight.

She asks about shooting again, so he takes her right then. The indoor range is more controlled, and when he gives her a few pointers, adjusts her slightly, any intimidation she felt before dissipates. Jaime stands, dumbfounded. She’s hit near the chest on the dangling target with every shot she takes. Arya must have that same instinct and muscle memory he has, because she’s fucking _good_. On her _second try_.

When they’re done, he jokes about her becoming a master assassin.

 

They meet Tyrion for dinner and although he’s a little taken aback by Arya’s presence, he seems to recover quickly.

Jaime’s happy-Tyrion and Arya get along well and it’s heartening to see the two most important people to him together. Tyrion cracks jokes and charms her and tells raunchy stories about when they were younger, and at points, Arya’s laughing so hard, she can’t eat.

Until the subject of Cersei is brought up.

“Edric Storm? That was Joffrey.” Jaime tells Tyrion.

“What do you mean that was Joffrey?”

“You do remember Joff talking about the Cleganes? Joffrey hired them to kill Robert’s bastards.” He doesn’t wait for Tyrion to react before adding, “Five of them. And do you know how they knew who Robert’s bastards were? Our sister.”

For the first time in a long time, his little brother is speechless.

Arya bites her lip. “It’s true. She pretty much admitted it.”

Tyrion is slack jawed, but manages to say something. “Why aren’t you going to the police? Oh for…for fuck’s sake-it’s because she knows about Arya, isn’t it? You won’t go to the police as long as Cersei keeps her mouth shut about you two. I’m right, aren’t I?”

Arya lowers her eyes, and sort of curls in on herself, and Tyrion recognizes what she’s doing before Jaime does.

“Arya,” Tyrion starts quietly, “don’t…don’t feel guilty. Don’t let Cersei take away your happiness because she did something wrong. If that’s what’s stopping you from turning them in, then so be it. My brother deserves to be happy too-and I know for a fact that you make him so. Cersei doesn’t have the right to dictate how either of you live your lives-neither do I, or anyone else.”

She looks at him with a watery smile, then turns to Jaime. He nods at her, and he knows, despite their own brand of justice they’re wielding, that they needed to hear that. Jaime pulls her to him and kisses her temple.

 

Outside the restaurant, after Jaime gives Tyrion the keys to the Maidenpool house, he pulls Arya aside. Jaime watches as Tyrion says something to her and Arya responds before she leans down and hugs him. Tyrion gives her one last pat on the hand before walking away.

When Arya joins Jaime, she looks contemplative.

“What did my brother say to you?”

“He told me,” she says somberly, not looking at him, “that the love you give is precious-that I need to treat your heart gently…and to love you the best that I can.”

Jaime’s first reaction is annoyance. _He’s_ the big brother-the protector. The strongest, the fastest, the first to come to Tyrion’s aid growing up whenever he was bullied. But he softens a little. It’s Tyrion that’s trying to protect _him_ now.

“You do, Arya.” Jaime says softly, as he tries to bury the doubt kindling in his heart.

 

She’s smoking in his bed, all the way on the edge on what Jaime now considers her side when he comes out of the bathroom. Slipping back between the covers, he tells her to scoot closer to him.

“I don’t want to accidentally burn your sheets,” she says, flicking her cigarette into the ashtray on the end table. “I’m sure they’re expensive.”

He gives her a look. “ _Arya_. They’re just sheets, I don’t give a rat’s ass. Come here, will you?”

Arya smiles and grabs the ashtray and slides over to him. They sit peacefully next to one another before Arya says, “Death comes for everybody-it doesn’t matter who you are.”

Jaime glances at her, confused. “That’s…morbid.”

She puts the cigarette out and stretches to put the ashtray back on the table. “It’s just something Jaqen told me once.”

“Jaqen? You’re naked in bed with me, and you’re thinking about another man?”

Arya rolls her eyes and wraps herself around him. “No. It’s just…I think I should feel bad about Joffrey- because I don’t feel bad _at all_ about killing him. He’ll be dead one day anyway, I just want to speed the process up. Does that us bad people?”

Jaime sighs and pulls her closer. “Maybe we’re good people willing to do bad things in order to do something right. You are _absolutely_ a good person-and one day you’ll be dead and so will I…but you’re right. Death doesn’t care. I’ve seen plenty of good men die that didn’t deserve it, and I’ve seen plenty of people that live long, prosperous lives that don’t merit it. Joffrey isn’t even legal drinking age, yet how much destruction and pain has he caused? I’ve seen a lot death in many different ways-and if I can stop one person now…then I will. I refuse to stand idly by while what he’s done goes unpunished.”

“You’ve seen a lot of death?”

It’s one question that sends a multitude of memories careening from the back of his mind to the forefront. All that time in the desert-different places, but the same fucking situations…the mind numbing boredom peppered with moments of unbridled fear.

He tells her about his time deployed. Everything he’s done, everything he’d seen, mistakes he’d made…just _everything_. Jaime doesn’t know why he’s decided to tell her all this-nobody in his life has heard it all. But she listens quietly, attentively as he gets mired in the memories he’s actively tried to forget. He talks for what seems like hours, but Arya doesn’t mind. When he stops, Arya places her hand gently on his face, and turns him so that he’ll look at her.

“I _love you_ , Jaime. All those things you’ve done have made you who you are-and that’s what I fell in love with… _everything_ you are.”

 

Jaime watches her as she sleeps and he traces his finger lightly over the tip of her nose and her lips and relishes in the fact that she’s in his bed again. He doesn’t want to sleep simply because he wants to savor every moment. He feels guilty about unburdening himself on her like he did, but once he started, he couldn’t stop-because he knows Arya would never judge him or make assumptions. That’s just who she is.

He takes her in and for a fleeting moment, he’s almost angry with her. How could you? He thinks to himself. How could you make me love you like this? He’s fallen so deeply, maddeningly in love with her that the thought of her ever leaving shatters his heart to pieces-steals the very breath from his lungs.

How unfair is that to her? He’s placed so much on her thin, small shoulders. She wasn’t even an adult yet, but here he is, laying his claim on her. Jaime meant it when he told her he had decided that she was the only woman for him and that he wants to spend the rest of his days with her. But what about her? To pigeon hole her into a decision she wasn’t even old enough to make. It’s hard for Jaime to remember that she’s only sixteen.

He closes his eyes and sighs. There’s an internal war raging inside him. Instinct dictates he take what he wants-without question or apology. Yet now it’s her he thinks of. They wouldn’t even be together if it weren’t for Joffrey…and now he wonders….

Jaime grit his teeth and pulls Arya closer, breathing in the smell of her. 

* * *

**_1 month, 1 day, 12 hours, 17 minutes_ **

 

Arya sits on the rock wall of the skeletal remains of the groundskeeper’s house and takes a drink of the bottle of Old Crow Lommy stole from his mother’s boyfriend.

Hot Pie scrambles up to sit next to her and when he does, he straddles the wall and eyes the ground below. The drop is only eight feet or so, but Hot Pie has never been one for heights.

“’Bout time, Fat Pie.” Lommy snorts from the opposite side of Arya.

“Fuck you, scarecrow. And I’m big boned, I’ll have you know.”

Arya laughs and passes the bottle to Hot Pie.

“This tastes like shit, Lom.” Hot Pie grimaces. “Couldn’t get nothing better?”

“Sorry we’re not all wealthy motherfuckers like you two,” Lommy mumbles around an unlit cigarette in his mouth. “Why can’t you grab one of them fancy-ass bottles of wine from the restaurant?”

“You know why. My parents will shit bricks if any of that shit goes missing.”

“It’s fine Lommy,” Arya says. “You know I had a bottle of $2000 whisky Jaime had. It tastes just like any other whisky.”

Lommy gives a low whistle. “So your boyfriend is a wealthy motherfucker too. When you marry him, you’ll be a kept girl-not that you need it.”

Arya can feel her cheeks redden and she socks Lommy on the shoulder. “I-I’m not going to marry him…” she stammers. But that’s not true, she tells herself. Arya wants to spend the rest of her life with Jaime, married or not, but that’s not something she wants to share with her friends-at least right now. They’ll think she’s stupid or girlish.

“ _Yeah, right,”_ Hot Pie says. He places a hand on his cheek and bats his eyelashes. “My boyfriend drives a vintage motorcycle and an Aston Martin and he takes me shooting and fucks me all over his posh apartment-“

Arya gasps disbelieving and smacks Hot Pie. “Shut the fuck up, or I’ll toss you off this wall,” she says laughing. “You’re just jealous because at least _I’m_ getting fucked.”

“Hey,” he sniffs defensively, “I’m working on it. The new waitress is fit-could be she likes her men more…bearish.”

“ _Bearish_?” Lommy exclaims. “She aint going to be interested unless she’s into that feeding fetish shit. I was planning on asking her out anyway.”

Hot Pie bends around Arya to look at Lommy. “Think she’d say yes to you, you pock marked twig?”

“You’re both clowns,” Arya jokes. “And the only way to settle it is to fight to the death.”

“You heard the lady,” Lommy says standing up, balancing on the wall. “Let’s go, Fat Pie.”

“I kind of feel bad for fighting a high school drop out.” Hot Pie chuckles.

“Oh ho oh,” Lommy breathes out. “I don’t need a diploma to know who my parents are.”

Arya throws her head back and cackles.

 

They spend hours out there on the Winterfell grounds, until the bottle is almost gone and they’re getting increasingly rowdy.

Arya’s laying in the grass watching Hot Pie and Lommy fight each other with sticks. She’s drunk and thinks about telling them about the plans for Joffrey. They don’t know him, but have heard enough about him that they’d help if they could.

But then the thought of Cersei bubbles up and she gets scared. If she found out about Hot Pie and Lommy, they’d be good as dead.

She sits up then, a wave of protectiveness washing over her…even as she sees Lommy poke Hot Pie in the stomach so hard he throws up in the grass.

* * *

**_27 days, 4 hours, 56 minutes_ **

****

Arya texts him a picture of her and her fat friend sitting on a stone wall and a message that compared Old Crow to the bottle of Macallan. He laughs a little and stares at her.

She’s got grubby knees and a cigarette dangling from her fingertips, and again he feels a tug on his heart. She shouldn’t be stuck with him-she should be doing this…hanging out with her friends, getting into trouble.

But he loves her so fucking much.

He loves her so much he decides that when they get back-

His phone vibrates and startles him out of his thoughts.

“Hello, Joff.”

“Uncle.”

The nasally tone of his nephew’s voice sets his teeth on edge. “Is there something you need?”

“There is. I’m inviting you to The Golden Lion’s opening. You should be there to see it and congratulate me. It’s everything Father wanted.”

“Is it?” Jaime swallows. “I’m sure you won’t be too offended if I decline-“

He can hear the sneer in Joffrey’s voice as he says, “It’s on the 30th. And…you can bring your _girlfriend_.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, cut the shit. Mother already told me. Arya Stark? _Really_? If you wanted one of those pathetic Starks, you should have at least chose Sansa. At least she’s pretty-but then you’d get my sloppy seconds-“

“Easy there, boy. I advise you not to say a word about Arya or any other Stark-“

“Or else what?” Joffrey says. “What are _you_ going to do?”

Jaime bites back an answer that will clearly rile him up more, and that’s what he doesn’t need-an unpredictable Joffrey. “The 30th you say? I’ll have to check my calendar, I suppose I wouldn’t want to miss the start of a new Baratheon legacy.”

When he hangs up, he runs upstairs to his office where he digs out his burner phone and texts Arya, Bronn, and Podrick. Now they have an official date. 

* * *

**_20 days, 4 hours, 11 minutes_ **

 

A unadorned, untraceable box truck sits inside the second garage of a house in Maidenpool, where it sits fully gassed, carrying enough explosives to level five square blocks in all directions. 

* * *

**_18 days, 7 hours, 22 minutes_ **

****

Podrick and Bronn are to leave in a week, bound for Atlantic City. They’re to do the recon and send any relevant info to King’s Landing. Arya and Jaime will fly out three days before and finalize anything that needs to be addressed.

And when they’re done, Joffrey Baratheon will be dead, and The Golden Lion will be razed.

* * *

**_11 days, 1 hour, 44 minutes_ **

 

Everyone but Sansa has left for Europe, and Arya is thrilled. She tells her sister that she’ll be staying with Jaime and Sansa squeals and says she’ll be staying with Petyr and Arya mocks vomiting onto the floor.

Jaime beams when Arya shows up at his door, backpack in tow. He picks her up and spins her around. She laughs, happy to be able to be with him uninterrupted for days.

Over dinner, they talk but Arya feels as though something is off. Jaime is being both equal parts distant and clingy, and she can’t sift through why that may be.

She loves being here with him everyday. He seems to as well, despite a growing feeling of unease that’s creeping up on her. When he takes her to bed, he’s gentle and soft, as if he’s relishing every part of her-that’s nothing new-but there’s something else. Something else she can’t quite grasp.

* * *

**_5 days, 15 hours, 3 minutes_ **

 

In the morning he finds her packing her things.

“Where…where are you going?” He asks because he wants to spend these last few days with her before…before they get back.

“You’re being weird. Quiet and weird. I just figured you want some space. I mean, I’ve been here long enough.” She’s not looking at him, busying herself with shoving clothes in her backpack.

“No, Arya.” He doesn’t want space now-he wants her.

“What, Jaime? What is it?” Arya huffs impatiently. When he doesn’t answer she scoffs and heads down the stairs. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but if you decide to tell me, you can call.”

He follows her and grabs her arm to stop her from leaving. “Arya-“

“ _No_.” She pulls out of his grip. “I _know_ something’s wrong. Are you having second thoughts?”

Jaime takes a deep breath and sits on the couch. He rests his elbows on his thighs and laces his fingers together. “It’s…it’s not about Joffrey. It’s about us.” He closes his eyes and swallows.

“What about us?”

He asks her to sit down, but she refuses. “What do you mean ‘about us,’ Jaime?”

Focusing on the floor at his feet, he says the words that tear him apart inside. “When we get back, we go our separate ways.”

“I don’t understand,” she says.

“When we get back, it’s over. Between us.”

He can hear her sharp breath. “What- _why_?”

“Arya…it just isn’t working- _won’t_ work after all of this.”

“How can you _say_ that?” Her voice cracks. “Look at me, you fucking coward.”

Jaime does, and she’s so fucking beautiful. Even with her face wet with tears, she radiant. And it hurts…it hurts so fucking badly, but it has to be this way, he tells himself.

Looking at her, he remembers.

_Robert and Rhaegar had gotten into a fight at Addam Marbrand’s house party. Robert started it, accusing Rhaegar of some imagined slight and something about Lyanna-which was ridiculous considering he was dating Cersei at the time. Jaime watched as Lyanna turned and left, beer in hand._

_He can’t remember what possessed him to follow her, but he did. He found Lyanna leaning against someone’s car, crying. Jaime leaned against the car next to her, unsure because he’d never seen her like this before. Granted, he didn’t know her all that well, but she always seemed vivacious and bold._

_He talked to her a little, joked with her, teased her, made her smile. Lyanna was beautiful and funny and when she thanked him for making her feel better, he just nodded._

And now twenty years later, he faces another crying Stark girl. But this girl is real-here, now- and not the ghost trapped in a memory. Instead of making her better, he’s the one who brought the world down around her.

“Explain to me how we aren’t working.” Arya demands.

“I…what do we have in common, Arya, aside from this.” He waves his hands indicating their Joffrey plan. “It’s the whole reason we’re together. If it wasn’t for Joffrey, none of-“

“You think I love you because of fucking _Joffrey_?” She gasps, clutching her middle. “Is that what you think? Or did you just tell me you loved me because I was willing to do something you weren’t?”

“I have _never lied to you_ ,” Jaime stands, “not ever, especially about that. I fucking love you more than you even know, Arya. But you’re _sixteen_.”

“ _So what_?” She raises her voice and takes a step away from him. “You told me-you said you don’t care what anyone else thinks. You said it was just me and you, fuck everybody else.”

“The police will fucking care,” Jaime responds, his own voice rising. “Your parents will certainly fucking care. I could go to prison-I could be listed as a child predator for the _rest of my life_ if I’m caught with you.”

“ _We can all go to prison right now, Jaime_.” Arya yells at him. “All of us, right now.” She pauses and inhales, shaking her head. Her next words are quiet. “What happened to everything you told me? All that shit about you wanting to be with me forever-that I’m the only one for you. Was it all just bullshit?”

Jaime struggles for something to say, but he can’t open his mouth and she looks at him with dull eyes when he doesn’t answer. “I was so stupid to ever believe you.” Arya turns then, and heads to the door.

“If you don’t want to go to Atlantic City, I understand. You can trust me to see it through,” he offers weakly through his heartache.

Arya faces him halfway, a look of pain and disgust on her face. “Of course I’m going. It was _my idea_.” She walks to the door and rests her hand on the knob, back to him.

“I wish I never met you.” She says it with such cold indifference, it feels as though he’s been struck in the stomach. He hears something clatter to the floor as she opens the door and closes it softly behind her.

He looks to the door, panic rising. He should stop her, tell her he doesn’t mean it. Tell her that she’s the only one in his life worth anything. But he can’t. He’s doing this for _her_.

Jaime tilts his head back to the ceiling, willing himself not to cry. He doesn’t deserve to mourn the loss of her. This is what he gets. This is his own doing. When he looks down at the floor, something catches his eye.

Sluggishly, he walks towards it. There, on the floor is the ring he gave her, attached to a broken chain.

He stares at it for a long time. 

* * *

Arya walks home from the bus stop, and the entire ride home she’s been able to not cry. But now, each step she takes is physically jarring enough to shake the tears brimming in her eyes.

She manages to get through the gates and sees that Sansa isn’t home when a hot tear escapes and rolls down her face. By the time she opens the front doors, she’s fully crying. Closing the doors behind her, she leans back and gasps for breath in an effort to calm herself, but it isn’t working. Slowly, she slips down to the floor and brings her knees to her chest.

And in the empty house, the only sound is the heavy sobs of a broken hearted girl.

" />


	9. 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love, death, and a bomb in between

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone! And according to the latest ep, we have a couple of kingslayers on our hands ;)

**_3 days, 14 hours, 20 minutes remain_ **

****

He wakes up, the sun entirely too bright for his liking. His head aches and he frowns when he realizes he’s naked and not in his own bed.

What the fuck happened last night? How could she have let him drink so much?

Then he remembers she’s not with him.

Which is strange considering he can feel a figure next to him. Slowly, he turns to see a pale, freckled shoulder and splayed red hair on the pillow.

Who in the fuck?

The sound of a vacuum outside the door pulls his attention away from whoever this was in the bed, and he gets up and flings the door open, uncaring and unconcerned over his lack of clothing.

“Do you mind? The floors are fucking clean already.”

The woman gives a low nod.

Sighing, he slams the door shut.

“You-whoever you are. It’s time to leave.”

The woman shifts and smiles. “Morning, love.”

“Get dressed and fuck off. My fiancé is on her way to the city now.”

“But, Joffrey-I was hoping we could repeat last night-“

“Get. Out.” 

* * *

 

**_3 days, 14 hours, 20 minutes_ **

Margaery holds her phone up and smiles in the back of the car. She’s about to take a photo, but rummages through her purse for her lipstick. Freshening it up a bit, she makes the same expression and clicks.

She posts it to every social media account she has. #Golden Lion #Atlantic City #Grand Opening!! #High Roller #Summer.

Margaery asks the driver to turn the air conditioning up higher. The flight has made her tired and irritable and she fans herself. She smooths the red wrap dress she has on, chosen in particular to annoy Cersei-notorious for wearing red to any and all family gatherings.

Looking out the window she sighs. All she has to do is marry that terrible boy, and everything else will fall into place. 

* * *

 

**_3 days, 14 hours, 20 minutes_ **

****

Sansa wakes up and rolls over to find Petyr tapping away on his phone. She catches his eye and he smiles.

“Looks like Ros found Joffrey-spent the night engaging in spectacular love making. She’s terribly impressed by his skill and ability.”

Sansa wrinkles her nose. “How did she agree to it?”

“Ros has been in my employ for a great many years-she’s amply rewarded. To get ahead in life, sweet Sansa, you have to utilize your strengths. Ros’ just happens to be the art of seduction.”

“You’re calling her a whore?”

“She calls herself one-when she’s not busy fulfilling her duties as my receptionist.”

“She find anything?” She asks, playing with his fingers.

“Joffrey does not carry around any paperwork of any great value-not that I expected him to. Cersei and the other children are in Atlantic City, though her brothers are noticeably absent-along with Stannis and Renly.”

“Jaime’s probably with my sister-she’s staying with him while my parents are gone.” She props herself up on her elbow, facing him. “You know, Arya said something about her and Jaime _knowing_ something about Cersei and Joffrey…and things not ending well for her.”

Petyr’s eyes flash with interest. “Oh? She’s right about that. It won’t.”

“You promised me Joffrey.”

“And I will keep that promise. As soon as we ruin that awful mother of his-he’s next.”

* * *

 

**_3 days, 14 hours, 20 minutes_ **

 

Jaime wakes up on the couch fully dressed with his shoes still on. The throw blanket is wrapped around his shoulders and he feels like death. His mouth is dry and his stomach roils as he tries to blink his eyes to focus.

It takes a moment before he vaguely remembers why he’s in such a state. An empty fifth of scotch is on its side on the floor and an ashtray on the coffee table is filled with cigarette butts. There’s no glass in sight, and he recalls drinking right out of the bottle. He takes a deep breath and feels the heavy weight in his chest and something digging into the palm of his hand. Prying his stiff fingers apart, he looks down at the ring where he had been holding it so tightly it left an imprint.

He manages to rouse himself enough to take a shower, leaving the ring on his dresser.

Jaime walks down the stairs in his underwear as he spies that pink sweatshirt of Arya’s.

He should…he should probably give her back her things she’s left here. He reaches for it but stops, not wanting to disturb it. All of a sudden, everything of hers around seems to stand out. Shuffling into his kitchen he sees another hair tie and a crumpled post it note with ‘Take Rickon to the park while Mothers at work’ written by some other Stark child.

All of these things of hers, and he doesn’t want to touch any of it-as if it’ll break some spell-that Arya would just blink out of existence if he does. Like she wouldn’t ever existed at all, leaving Jaime to be just an old, lonely man who fucked his sister and whose only positive attribute is that he was a good soldier.

Jaime stands listlessly in his kitchen staring out the window. He wants to cry, he wants to beg her forgiveness, he wants to scream, he wants to kiss her, he wants to burn his apartment to the ground, he wants to pound down the doors of Winterfell and demand she take him back, he wants to sleep and never wake up, he wants to ask her to marry him, he wants to sob, he wants…

He wants Arya.

* * *

 

Arya wakes up with a sore throat and puffy eyes. She buries herself deeper into her covers, not wanting to face the world. At least the house is empty, she thinks. There’s no one to question why she spent an entire day crying in her bed. Rolling over she looks up at the target sheet Jaime had given her pinned on the wall.

She swallows and slowly gets out of bed. Trying not to look at it, she pulls it from the tack and folds it up, dropping it into the trash can near her desk. She goes to lay back down, but she can still see the edges of the paper sticking out so she pushes the can under her desk and places the chair in front of it.

Arya splashes water on her face in the bathroom, and as soon as she sees her reflection, she darts her head back down. She doesn’t want to look at herself, because it somehow reminds her of Jaime.

She doesn’t want to be Arya Stark-she wants to be literally anyone else-because Arya Stark is in so much pain it’s unbearable. Arya Stark was stupid enough to trust someone fully, only to be beaten and disappointed. She doesn’t want to be _anyone_.

If she can do that, if she can be No One At All, then she’ll fly to Atlantic City and bomb a casino and kill a worthless piece of shit and be done with it.

* * *

 

**_2 days, 13 hours, 1 minute_ **

 

Jaime gets a call on the burner phone at the airport. His heart quickens, thinking maybe it’s Arya, but it’s only Bronn, confirming plans.

“Put the girl on,” Bronn says. “I need to ask her something.”

“I…she’s not here.” Jaime answers, darting his eyes around to see if she’s anywhere around.

“Fine. Well, guess I’ll talk to her when you guys get here.”

Jaime doesn’t answer before he closes the phone, and wonders if she really is coming.

He sits for another hour, getting more anxious by the minute. She deserves to see this through. It was her plan from the beginning-

And that’s when he sees the dark ponytail and sneakers he’d know anywhere. Jaime wants to stop her, gather her in his arms and never let her go. He watches as she walks to the boarding gate ahead of him and slips through. Did she even look for him?

* * *

 

Arya’s keenly aware of Jaime’s presence next to her. She stares out the window, not wanting to even see him in her peripherals. It doesn’t matter though, she can smell him and feel the heat from his body because he’s just inches away from her.

Her chest aches and she blinks back tears, forcing herself to remain calm and unaffected. No One wouldn’t cry because their ex-boyfriend was sitting next to them.

 

She spots Bronn and Pod almost as soon as she gets off. She nods to Bronn and Pod offers to take her bag for her.

She smiles and walks with him ahead of Jaime and Bronn.

Pod frowns at her. “You okay?”

The question throws her off a little. “Er, yeah. Why?”

“Dunno,” he says. “You just look…sad.”

Arya shrugs. “How’s the city? I’ve never been here before.”

“Me neither. It’s pretty cool. Kinda awful too, but cool.”

Arya laughs for the first time in a couple of days and it feels good.

* * *

 

They’re escorted to an early 90’s Ford sedan. Jaime automatically holds the passenger door for Arya, but she ignores him and sits in back with Podrick. Jaime stands, hand limp at his side.

“You going to get the fuck in?” Bronn asks from the drivers seat and Jaime tiredly does.

Sitting next to her in the plane had been both relieving and tortuous. He feels as if he can finally _breathe_ when she’s near, yet it tears him apart being so close but not being able to touch her or kiss her or even speak to her.

Arya has been ignoring him firmly, a mask of indifference plastered on her face. He’s certain he knows what it is she’d doing. He learned very early that when faced with things that are too hard to handle you can fight, or laugh, or look without seeing…just going away inside.

And she was-she was going away inside.

Jaime closes his eyes and grits his teeth. This is his doing.

 

Bronn drives them onto the strip and he can hear Arya talk to Podrick, but not exactly what she’s saying because the radio is on, and Bronn keeps going on about…something or other.

But Jaime sees the building before being told what it is. Here, in front of him, is The Golden Lion.

Ten stories and a giant lion’s head fountain in front spewing water, as if it’s vomiting. And there’s gold. _Everywhere_. He turns the radio down and stares at it. “It’s absolutely _garish_.” Jaime says. “Is that a _red carpet_?”

“That’s the tackiest thing I’ve ever seen,” Arya agrees.

Jaime turns his head to look at her, and for a second, they lock eyes. His heart beats out of his chest because for an instant, it looks as if she may smile at him.

Instead, her eyes slide over to Podrick. “Isn’t it, Pod?”

“It’s a bit much,” Pod says making a face.

There’s nowhere to park, and he didn’t want to risk being seen anyway, so they circle around the block.

They spot an unmarked side door facing the street.

“The employee entrance,” Bronn mutters.

There’s a collective deep breath inside the car.

 

They find the room rented for them at the motel within distance of The Golden Lion. Standing on the landing all they have to do is glance to the north and they have an excellent visual.

When Jaime opens the door he balks at what he finds. There’s only one bed, and he can tell Arya hesitates.

Clearing his throat, he awkwardly tosses the small envelope with two keycards in it next to the TV. “I can, um, sleep on the floor…or with Bronn-“

Arya just brushes past him and drops her backpack on the floor. She takes a keycard out and shoves it into the back pocket of her jeans. Without so much as a glance in his direction, she walks out, closing the door behind her.

Jaime stares at the closed door, unsure as to what to do with himself.

 

Arya’s been gone for two hours, and Jaime paces the room. He’s fools with the air conditioner because it’s so fucking hot in this damned city and he’s sweating and worried.

At four hours he checks in Podrick’s room and his brows furrow and says he hasn’t seen her at all and Bronn is watching a boxing match in his room and says he’s been too busy trying to find a decent bookie and if Jaime knows anyone-

Five hours pass with no sign of her, and he considers just going out and looking for her. He takes the car Bronn somehow acquired, although he doesn’t know where to start.  He does, however, find a liquor store where he buys a bottle and cigarettes.

Telling himself she’s fine and she can take care of herself isn’t helping at all.

Jaime goes back to the room and smokes and drinks out of the bottle waiting for her return.

He’s had all this time to contemplate his actions, and had come to the conclusion that he was fucking stupid. His father, his sister…they’d been right about him. Nothing but good looks and brawn and no brains whatsoever to speak of.

Sitting at the table in the room he leans down and swirls the bottle in his hands. How had he thrown away the one good thing in his life? Jaime made the decision to just do what he assumed was the right thing without even _talking_ to her about it. _Not one fucking word_.

What, just because he was older than her, he somehow knew better? That was horseshit and he knew it. So what if he was right and a few years down the road they ended it? What if he was _wrong_ and he lost his one chance at being truly happy with the girl he loves for the rest of his life?

 _Deep down he knows he’s wrong_ -

He throws the bottle against the wall.

Jaime Lannister making a boneheaded, bad decision-fucking everything up. What a surprise.

There’s a knock at the door, and Jaime warily gets up to answer it.

On the other side is Bronn and Podrick, and Jaime sighs and opens the door to let them in before sitting back down at the table.

Bronn sniffs and looks around and spots the broken bottle. “Trouble in paradise?”

Jaime just glares at him.

“Right. Well, brought some food.” Bronn nods to Podrick who lifts up two grease stained bags.

“I’m not hungry,” Jaime grumbles.

“Good thing I brought this then,” Bronn says, holding a bottle of Suntory. He walks to the sink and gathers the cups wrapped in plastic. Unwrapping three, he pours liquor into each and passes them out.

Jaime just stares at his and Podrick doesn’t even notice because he’s busy stuffing a comically large cheeseburger in his mouth.

“Want to tell me what this shit is all about?” Bronn asks, jerking his thumb over his shoulder towards the broken bottle.

“No.” Jaime answers petulantly.

“Where’s Arya?”

“Out.”

“I see.” Bronn says, eyeing Jaime. “Me and the boy here were gonna hit up a few _gentleman clubs_. You should join us. That’ll cure what ails ya-find a different girl to get over the old one, see? Something totally opposite-maybe a blonde or a red head with a great set of baps on ‘em.”

Jaime looks at Bronn with a mix of confusion and disgust. “Absolutely _not_.” The thought is revolting.

Bronn just shrugs. “You just gonna mope around till we get home?”

“I’m not moping,” Jaime says taking a drink. “I just…” He sighs and throws his hands up in the air.

Bronn grabs his cup and leans back in the chair. “Did you try apologizing and buying her something?”

“ _Buying_ -what? No, she’s not like that.”

“She’s a girl,” Bronn says knowingly. “They all like that shit.”

“Are we a couple of gossiping hens? We going to take turns braiding each other’s hair?” Jaime winces. “Why are we talking about this?”

“Because you need your head in the game. You can’t destroy a ten story building and not get caught if you’re sitting here pining over your lost lady love.”

Jaime rolls his eyes and fills his cup as much as he can without the danger of spilling it. “I don’t…I don’t know that she’ll forgive me. I told her I didn’t want to get arrested for you know…child fondling, or whatever. And that the only reason we’re together is because of my nephew.”

“Is it?”

“Is what?”

“Is it the reason you’re together?” Bronn asks simply.

“No.” Jaime looks into his cup. It isn’t at all. Unusual circumstances may have thrown them together, but the rest? The rest was just him and her.

“Pod? Why don’t you share some words of wisdom?”

Podrick looks up and puts his burger down. “Oh, um. Well. She loves you a lot and you love her-and people that love each other should be together…you know….” he trails off, uncomfortable, and dives back into his food.

Bronn nods in Podrick’s direction. “It really is that easy.” He lights a cigarette, and waves the smoke out of his face. “Let me guess. The real reason you broke up is because she’s young and you’re old and one day she’s gonna realize all the shit she missed out on and leave you for some handsome Ukrainian car mechanic that’s closer to her age and drives a Vespa.”

For the first time in days, Jaime chuckles. “ _What_? That was surprisingly insightful and true, minus the-wait did something happen to you and a-“

“Fucking _Ukrainians_ ,” Bronn spits violently, shaking his head.

Jaime takes a deep breath. “Maybe I’ll just apologize. Tell her what an asshole I am-because I am.”

“Tell her the truth,” Bronn says. “She’s a level-headed girl. I don’t think she’ll go for all that groveling shit-just tell her the real reason. She’ll understand. And…if you don’t, could be I’ll try my hand at her.”

Narrowing his eyes at Bronn, Jaime bites out, “Like hell you are.”

Bronn gives him a smile. “Just sayin’.”

Jaime scowls at Bronn, unsure if he’s serious or not-not that he wants to take a chance. Not that _Arya_ would be interested.

Bronn downs his drink. “Boy, you about done? We got us a whole new city of ladies waiting to be courted.”

Podrick crumples up his wrappers and shoves them into the paper sack then goes to empty the ashtray in the sack as well. He tidies a bit of the crumbs left behind on the table when Bronn sighs at him.

“You know what they call him back home?” Bronn asks Jaime. When Jaime just lifts a shoulder, Bronn chuckles. “ _Tri-Pod_. Boy’s got a magic cock.”

Jaime lifts an eyebrow at the boy and Podrick just turns red.

“ _Which you’re depriving them of if you don’t move your ass.”_ Bronn emphasizes.

 

His eyes dart up at the sound of the door opening. Arya steps in and frowns at the broken bottle shards on the floor. Carefully, she toes some pieces aside.

“Where have you been?”

“Out.” Is all she says as she drops her purse next to her bag on the floor.

“Out _where_? You were gone for hours.” Jaime asks incredulous.

“I don’t answer to you.” She answers simply before walking into the bathroom and shutting the door. It isn’t said with anger or irritation. It’s a statement of fact, devoid of emotion.

Jaime stares as she emerges. She slips off her shoes and crawls under the covers fully dressed-her back to him. Leaning his elbows on his thighs he takes her in-relieved she’s in the same space as him.

He’d been wanting to talk to her, but now that she’s here, he doesn’t know where to start. Arya isn’t moving or acknowledging him in any way, so he dares to move to the opposite edge of the bed. “I’m so fucking sorry, Arya.”

“You know,” he begins quietly, “that day I saw I you at the courthouse? You walked right past me and I was…God, I was so taken away by how you changed since I remembered you last. I felt as though I couldn’t breathe, because you were just so fucking _beautiful_ , even as angry as you were. I knew I had to talk to you, but I didn’t know what to say-because _I_ was angry. That trial was a joke, and nobody else seemed to care, except you. That’s why I…decided to at least try. Deep down, I could tell that you and I were alike. I was drawn to you, even then, though I didn’t quite know in all the ways yet, and I just had to fucking keep you in my sights, or something. I remember,” he smiles to himself, “I remember wanting to call you afterward, but not having a reason to. But…you called me and the rest of it you know. Maybe I felt that way because I knew I was meant to be with you.”

“If I could take it all back, I would. _All of it_. Everything I said to you that day. Because I wasn’t being honest. I don’t give a shit about jail or Joffrey –not that much, anyway. I was protecting _myself_ from getting hurt. I thought one day-after all of this-six months…a year, you’ll wake up and resent me. You’d resent me because I’ve held you back in some way. The whole world is at your feet, but here you are, saddled with an old man.” Jaime wipes a hand over his face. “I was a coward. I told myself I was doing you a favor, when really it was about me. After we go home…what do _I_ have to offer _you_? My life is half over as yours just begins. I _know_ we weren’t together because of Joffrey."

“You make me so happy-I _never_ thought I’d find this-never knew my life could be so improved upon by you just being in it. I picture you with me for the rest of my life-that was something I _knew_ -from the very heart of me the day you told me you loved me. And that’s what’s so fucking scary. I love you _so much_ that I…that thinking of a day without you hurts more than I can stand.”

Jaime sighs. Even if she’s asleep at least he said what he did out loud. Even if she doesn’t care, she deserves to know.

“I’m asking you for your forgiveness. I don’t deserve it, or expect it, but I’m asking all the same.”

There’s a shuffling of bedding and Arya sniffs. Jaime wants to look at her, but he’s terrified of what he might see. He closes his eyes and inhales.

Her voice cracks, “I remember.”

At that he does turn, and she’s sitting cross legged, fiddling with her fingers in her lap. Her hair falls and shields her face, and he fights the urge to tuck it behind her ear.

“Joffrey’s trial,” she says. “I thought nobody else gave a shit, and then you…I could tell you did. I _did_ know we were alike, though I don’t really know how I knew that. I just did. And when I saw you at Robert’s funeral, it was the first time I was really… _aware_ of you. You weren’t just another grown up that comes to my parent’s New Year’s party, but another person that understood a little bit about me.” She pauses, “I thought about you, too.”

She’s still not looking at him, but he’s taking in every word she says with rapt attention. It’s the first time he’s hearing any of this.

“I thought about you since you took me home. Every day.” Arya shakes her head.

“But you broke my heart, Jaime. I trusted you not to hurt me, and you did.” She sniffs again and wipes her face with the back of her hand. “It hurts to know that you didn’t trust _me_. Because of how old I am, you didn’t trust in the fact that I know what I want or who I want to be with. I gave you everything I have, and I thought that would have been enough - _you_ are who I want _-_ now, a year, ten years…I made my choice, and it’s _you_. I don’t care how old you are or how old I am- and I thought you felt the same. You don’t have to offer me anything. But, I don’t know what else to do or what to say to get you to believe me.”

Jaime blinks back tears he can feel welling up in his eyes. How was it that he ever doubted her? Oh my girl, he thinks. How could I have done this to you?

“I forgive you.” She looks at him then, and it’s as if he’s forgotten how stunning she is. He breathes out shakily and there’s a glimmer of hope in his chest.

He slowly takes her hand, trying not to spook her. He looks down as he plays with the delicate bones of her knuckles and swallows, “Will you give me another chance?”

Once again, he’s a coward, because he can’t bear to look at her if the answer is no.

“How will I know you won’t do this again?”

Without thinking, he drops her hand and cups her face. “I will never, _ever_ pull that shit again. I fucking promise you, Arya. I know my word doesn’t mean shit to you right now, but I won’t. I _won’t_.”

Arya looks at him for a long moment. “Okay,” she whispers.

Jaime releases a relieved breath. “ _Yes_?”

Arya nods. And in a heartbeat, he’s gathered her in his arms. She crawls into his lap and he can hear a muffled sob as she buries her face in his shoulder. He holds tighter, one hand in her hair, the other around her waist. He shuts his eyes and feels tears of his own.

* * *

 

Arya holds him as the tears burn her face and pool onto his shirt. Despite what she may have told herself earlier, she does believe him. Because she _knows_ Jaime…and the thought of him doubting her…he had been protecting himself from heartache, and the thought alone crushes her. How could he _ever_ think she’d hurt him. She would never, _ever_ intentionally do that because he is _everything_ to her.

She pulls back to look at him and is unprepared for what she sees. Jaime’s face is wet with tears, and it almost scares her. She’s never seen him cry-and she’s witnessed a whole range of Jaime Lannister emotions.

His eyes rake her face and she attempts to smile. “If we behave this way after a two days apart, I’d hate to see what we’re like if we ever break up permanently.”

“I guess we shouldn’t then,” he says, voice rough. “I am truly sorry, Arya.”

The sincerity of his words pierce her chest and it almost causes more tears to fall. She nods and looks into his eyes, and she _missed_ him so much. Instead of saying anything, she presses a gentle kiss to his lips.

She’s about to pull away when Jaime takes a deep inhale and kisses her back so hard their teeth knock together and soon it’s as if he’s devouring her. She welcomes him, all tongue and teeth and heavy breath and it feels like _home_.

It doesn’t take long before Arya fumbles with the buttons of his shirt and he snakes a hand up her back, unclasping her bra. The detach only long enough to hastily pull clothes off.

He sits, head against the headboard, and watches in awe as she straddles his lap, and just to see him bare, to feel his skin against her, sends her heart soaring. When she lowers herself onto him, they both gasp.

Jaime grips her fiercely and presses his face between her breasts as her fingernails scrape his scalp. Arya feels so full and _whole_ with him inside her. A brief, cloudy thought crosses her mind that she’s _made for him_ -to have him this way-because they fit seamlessly together. How he could ever think she would leave him is beyond her. Arya will never have another man this way.

They stay this way, unmoving. Because it’s not really about sex-it’s about being close to each other again. It doesn’t matter that they were in the same city, or that they were really only apart for a couple of days. For the two of them, it may well have been across oceans for all eternity. These two people whose love is so deep and unwavering for each other-so integral to who they are now-this reunion is one for the ages.

And into the hot summer night, thousands of miles from home, they whisper oaths-promises of _‘always’_ and ‘ _never._ ’ 

* * *

 

He checks to see if she’s still sleeping. As slowly as he can, he removes his arm from under her and leans over the bed and digs through his pockets of his pants and pulls out a small box.

Jaime had thought about tossing it into Blackwater Bay, because if she didn’t want it he didn’t want anyone else to have it. He then thinks about how he could have thrown it into the Atlantic-an appropriate ending to this whole damned thing. But now, he’s relieved he did neither.

He pries open the box and sets it next to him. Taking the ring out, he looks at it, then at Arya at his side. He gently takes her left hand and slides the ring on. It fits perfectly.

Arya shifts a little and her eyes flutter open. She looks at him, then at her hand. Jaime doesn’t say what he means by doing this and Arya doesn’t ask. Her lips part and she extends her fingers.

“Forever.” He says. It is a question, a statement, a declaration, and a plea wrapped up in a simple word. She catches his eye and studies him. Arya is his queen and he a lone knight in dented armor on one knee, sword at her feet. He’s swearing fealty to her-offering himself-offering his love, his devotion, his protection, and his loyalty if she’ll have him.

Arya’s eyes shine with unshed tears and she nods slightly against the pillow. “Okay, then,” she breathes. “Forever.” The last word is said with such finality, and Jaime can’t believe his ears.

Thankful (oh so fucking thankful), he lays back on the pillow and smiles at her. A tear escapes and rolls down her nose and she smiles back. Wiping the tear away, he gives her a soft kiss. Arya cuddles up to him and sighs into his shoulder. He takes her hand with the ring and places it on his bare chest, over his heart. Closing his eyes, he covers her hand with his, keeping her there.

Forever, indeed. 

* * *

 

**_1 day, 1 hour, 9 minutes_ **

 

A knock in the morning startles her out of sleep and she bolts up in bed. Wide-eyed, she looks at Jaime who sits up too. Arya scrambles around for clothes, and throws Jaime’s shirt on, buttoning it as she walks to the door.

Peeking through the peephole, Arya scoffs. “Its just Bronn.” She hears Jaime groan and flop back down onto the pillows as she opens the door.

“Good morning,” she says, trying to hide her embarrassment at her appearance.

Bronn lifts his eyebrows and chuckles. “Looks like it,” he says, looking her up and down. “Looks like it was a good night, too.” Bronn leans into the doorway. “Take my advice, did you, you cunt?” He hollers at Jaime.

Arya looks over Bronn to see Podrick. “Mornin’ Pod.”

Pod’s face is bright red and he’s looking everywhere but at her. “Morning.”

“What do you want, Bronn?” Jaime grumbles.

“Breakfast. We got shit to do today.” Bronn answers, still leaning into the room.

“We’ll meet you at the car in a few,” Arya says, thinking of food. She has her appetite back, and now the thought of breakfast makes her dizzy.

“ _Arya_ ,” Jaime protests.

“Jaime, just get dressed. I’m starving.”

 

They sit in a booth, Jaime pressed up against her. It’s as though they need to make up for the two days they spent broken up, because they can’t keep their hands off each other. She leans onto his shoulder and he wraps an arm around her, getting as close as they can. She’s practically in his lap.

“Oh ho,” Bronn says from across the table. “Lets have a look.” Arya is confused until he takes her hand and lifts it up to his face. “Nice. Good craftsmanship.” He thumbs the ring around her finger. “Edwardian?”

“Georgian.” Jaime answers.

“Must have cost a pretty penny.” Bronn releases her hand and Jaime just shrugs.

What is that supposed to mean? “How much was this?” Arya asks, terrified of learning the answer. Jaime won’t look at her and that just confirms her suspicions. She pulls out of his hold. “ _Jaime_. How much?”

Jaime tilts his head back and forth and looks out the window. He clears his throat. “A little over twenty thousand.”

Her jaw drops. “ _Dollars_?”

“You fucking prick,” Bronn says as he shakes his head in admiration at Jaime.

Pod is staring at her hand as she picks up the menu. She tries to focus on food, but she finds it hard because she has to come to terms with the fact that she’s wearing the equivalent of a brand new car on her finger.

Then she thinks about how jealous Sansa will be when she finds out.

“The truck is parked somewhere near the expressway?” Jaime thinks to ask as the waitress comes.

“Yeah. We’ll go check on it after this.”

Arya grabs a couple of napkins from the dispenser and digs around in her purse. As carefully as she can, she opens a sandwich bag and pulls a paper from it, using the napkins to ensure she’s not touching it directly. She looks over her shoulder and sweeps the area in front of her.

“I made the note yesterday.” She says in a low voice. Nudging Jaime, she hands it to him under the table.

He unfolds it and takes a minute to read it. Smiling at her, he sits back a little. “Have I ever told you that I absolutely fucking adore you? Where did you find time to do that?”

Jaime hands the note to Podrick who lowers it between him and Bronn.

Arya bites her lip. “Yesterday. At a library. I didn’t even know this town had one.”

“It’s good,” Bronn says handing it back to her. “Really fucking good. Where are you having them drop the money?”

“We’re not.” Arya answers. “That’s how we’ll get Joffrey alone in the building-by telling him we’ll give him the coordinates and that we’ll have him flip a switch to diffuse the bomb. But, only on the condition that he go alone and that nobody sees him.”

“So there’s no coordinates and no collateral damage.”

Coffee is brought to them, and Arya hands Jaime a sugar packet without thinking.

 

On the way to the truck, they discuss timing.

“They stop selling alcohol at 4am, I think.” Jaime says, grabbing Arya’s hand. They’re in the backseat, and if it weren’t for the seatbelts, they’d be right up against each other again. “So…4:30? There won’t be so many people about.”

Bronn nods from the drivers seat, and they stop in front of an auto wrecking yard.

“It’s in there. It’s where I got this too,” Bronn says, patting the dashboard of the car.

“This piece of shit?” Jaime questions.

Pod laughs as Bronn acts offended. “This here is an American made automobile, I’ll have you know-“

 “It’s still a piece of shit, Bronn.”

 

Podrick and Bronn wandered off once they reached the motel, leaving Arya and Jaime alone and they decide to take a walk to the beach. Finding a bench, they sit, watching the waves.

Arya curls into his side and Jaime wraps an arm around her. The smell of him brings her an intense feeling of contentment and happiness and not for a moment does she regret forgiving him or taking him back.

She smiles as he kisses her hair. 

* * *

 

He kisses her hair and closes his eyes. He’s so fucking grateful for her forgiveness, and if need be, will spend the rest of his days making it up to her. Opening his eyes he sees an elderly couple walk by and for a second, his heart aches. He and Arya will never really have that-not like they would had they been with people their own age. But if he’s lucky, time will be good to him. 

Does it matter, though? She agreed to marry him.

 _She agreed to marry him_ , he thinks now in complete wonder. Somehow its just now dawned on him-little Stark will be his _wife_.

“You said you’d marry me.” Jaime says, as if he can’t believe it.

Arya pulls away a little and smiles up at him. “I did. Why? Want to take it back?”

Jaime grimaces and pulls her back. “Are you kidding me? Apparently, if I don’t put the old ball and chain on you, Bronn very may well try and sweep you off your feet.”

Arya mocks disgust. “Gross. Now Pod though…”

“Well…it’s a good choice. I heard he has quite the _package_.”

“How and why and when were you discussing Pod’s dick?”

“I’m a worldly gentleman. I make it my business to know my competition.” Jaime says.

Arya scoffs and wraps an arm around his middle. “You _have_ no competition, stupid.”

Running his fingertips along her forearm, he chuckles. “What kind of wedding do you want?”

“What kind of…who cares? I just want to marry you-I’d rather we do it in a courthouse, or something.”

“Yes, but wouldn’t an extravagant wedding really aggravate all of our relatives?” He smirks.

“Me being with you is enough to aggravate them.” Arya sighs. “Not like I give a shit, though. But, I guess we’ll think about it if we’re not all in prison.”

“We’ll be fine,” Jaime assures her. “And if we’re not? The only person with a connection is me, and I won’t breathe a word about you if it comes down to that.”

Arya rips herself out of his arms and scoots herself back a few inches, anger clear across her face. “What the fuck, Jaime? Do you really think I’d let you go down alone? That’s not happening.”

“Seriously?” Jaime asks, baffled. “Arya, that’s the stupidest thing I have ever heard. It’s _prison_. For _life_.”

“I know that,” she spits out. “And if you think I’d let you rot away alone for the rest of your life-then you’re stupid. You’re not taking the blame for something we all did.”

“ _Me_?” Jaime cannot believe her, and now he’s angry because this stubborn thing is not listening. “ _I’m_ being stupid? Listen here you little terror-I’ll not have you throw your life away for me.”

Arya’s eyes shine with fury but in a flash her face softens. “Jaime, it’s you and I, remember? Fuck everyone else. And that means that if you go down, then I do too.”

He takes a deep breath and looks at her before scooping her up and putting her on his lap. Jaime absolutely refuses to name her in any way if it happens, but he decides to stay silent on the matter for now.

“The only reason I want you free is because you’ll have to bake me a cake with a file in it.” He tells her nuzzling into her neck.

She snorts and places a hand on his cheek. “The only reason I’d turn myself in is because I don’t want you taking all the credit.”

He laughs a little and stretches up to kiss her. What a pair they make. 

* * *

 

**_19 hours, 0 minutes_ **

They meet in Arya and Jaime’s room at four am. They’re in dark clothes, Arya with her hair tucked into a knitted cap and Jaime with a baseball cap from some souvenir shop.

It’s sweltering as Bronn pulls out the map from the guide book in the motel room.

“We’re here.” He says pointing. “The casino is here, the truck here, and after we’ll meet here. It’s an abandoned pier and the only fucking empty place in this city. It’s a ten minute drive, so Pod and I will see you right at dawn,” Bronn nods to Arya and Jaime. “We clear?”

They stand around silently looking at each other and Arya takes a deep breath.

“It’s been a pleasure working with you,” Pod says holding his hand out to Arya. She takes it and nervously smiles.

“You too, Pod.”

They shake hands and Jaime turns to Arya. “Shall we finish what we started, darling?”

Arya bites her lip and tries not to bounce on the balls of her feet with all the anxious energy she’s feeling.

“Fuck yes.”

 

They get to the truck and once Bronn and Podrick are outside, Pod pulls out two sets of coveralls and ball caps from a duffle bag he brought. The two of them pull the coveralls on over their clothes and Bronn fishes out a clipboard before tossing the bag into the car.

Arya and Jaime watch as they turn their backs to find the truck. 

* * *

 

They pull up to the casino and eye the employee door. Pod looks around, and it’s the quietest he’s ever seen the strip. There’s still handfuls of people milling about on the sidewalks, and the neon lights are still blazing strong, but nobody pays them any mind, and he swallows down the jittery feeling. He pulls his gloves up tighter around his fingers.

“C’mon, boy. Can’t get paid if we don’t do our job.” Bronn says as he heaves himself out of the truck. It’s a sort of prayer, as it were. Something he says every time they pull a job. And so far, it works.

Bronn rolls the back up as Pod pulls down the ramp and climbs up. He loosens the straps and begins to push it, but the thing is _heavy_. With Bronn’s help, they manage to get down to the street and up to the door.

Pod runs to grab the clipboard and to close the door before joining Bronn. He attempts to calm himself while pulling out a sack of key cards. It was his idea to scramble the RFID in the card reader, something he was rather proud of-if it worked.

Pod’s down to the last two keycards and he’s beginning to really sweat, and stops himself from looking around. Bronn has his back, he knows, but it’s still nerve-wracking.

His hands begin to tremble as he gets to the final one-which opens the door.

Pod closes his eyes in relief and holds the door open for Bronn and they struggle to wedge the thing through the door.

They enter a concrete hallway, and there’s no one around. They spot the elevator next to the stairs and they roll their way over.

“Elevator then stairs,” Bronn whispers and Pod nods.

The elevator stops on the second floor and a gaggle of maids get in, although they’re so busy chatting amongst themselves they don’t notice the two of them, but Bronn lifts the clipboard up in front of his face, and Pod looks down to examine his shoes.

When the fourth floor is reached, they keep their heads bowed and exit as fast as possible while dragging the damned thing off. As soon as the doors shut, they take in the scene around them. They can see through windows of rooms where there’s counting machines and a burly guard stands watch over a half a dozen employees stacking money.

Bronn and Pod lock eyes and know they haven’t been spotted, but now they need to move their asses.

Bronn pushes as Pod pulls, the salt of his sweat stinging his eyes. He stops himself from scratching.

“Down the hall,” Bronn says grunting, and slowly they come to a stop. “Here.”

Pod grabs the note from his pocket and shakily opens the bag and props the note on top. Bronn gets down on his knees and feels around the bottom of the bomb through the gaps on the cart. Pod knows there’s three switches at the bottom that need to be flipped simultaneously in order to properly arm it, and he sincerely fucking hopes it’ll work-he doesn’t really want to die in an explosion so far from home.

Bronn takes a breath and Pod can hear the clicks of the switches and they both freeze, waiting. When nothing happens, Bronn springs back up and they power walk towards the staircase.

They slip through the door and scramble down the stairs as quickly as possible, the sound of boots clanging ringing in Pod’s ears.

* * *

 

And now it sits, at 4:30am outside The Golden Lion’s counting room.

In the pandemonium of the grand opening, it won’t be noticed for another hour. 

* * *

 

**_18 hours, 10 minutes_ **

 

The low rumble of the box truck cause Jaime and Arya to jump out of their seats in the car, both flinging their hats off. Arya runs to Pod and gives him a squeeze and even throws her arms around Bronn for a second.

“Is it done?” Jaime asks, apprehensive.

“It is. That was a heavy motherfucker.” Bronn answers.

Over the water, dawn quickly approaches and Bronn and Pod strip off their coveralls and toss everything into the bag, including gloves.

“What’s it look like on the inside?” Arya asks Podrick.

He runs a hand through his hair and scratches his forehead. “You saw the outside-it’s like that,” Podrick smiles, “but worse.

Arya snickers as they all wander over to the car, leaving the truck where it is. Jaime stops when he realizes she’s not joining them.

“What’s wrong?” He frowns down at her.

Her eyes sparkle when she looks up at him. “We should shove that thing into the ocean.” She says.

“The truck?”

She grins and he can’t help but mirror her. “Okay.” He looks around them and finds a broken cinder block amongst the used condoms and needles in the brushes and places it on the gas pedal. He struggles a little starting the truck.

“You want the honors?” Jaime asks her. She shakes her head and motions to him.

Bronn and Podrick have stopped and turned to watch Jaime. Preparing to jump out, he leans in and shifts it into drive. He barely has time to remove himself before it lurches forward.

And they take in the sight of the truck driving itself into the water and slowly sink.

* * *

 

There’s nothing so far on the television news about it as they arrive back to the motel.

Pod yawns and so does Arya, and Jaime suggests they try and sleep a little. 

* * *

 

**_13 hours, 1 minute_ **

 

Arya is pulled from sleep by the sound of the television in the background. She’s groggy and hot, and it takes a minute to get her bearings. When she does, she sits up to face the local newscast that’s on.

“… _evacuated three blocks surrounding….authorities unsure who will take credit….a demand of ten million dollars_ …”

“Holy shit,” she whips her head to see Jaime still sleeping. “Jaime,” she says shaking his shoulder.

Jaime opens his eyes and smiles at her until he notes the look on her face. Sitting up, he follows her gaze to the news that’s on.  He’s about to say something when the sounds of sirens are almost directly beneath them, and Arya gets up and flings the door open, heart pounding.

Oh fuck, of please, oh fuck.

Instead of police cars pulling into the lot, it’s the sound of ambulances and fire trucks racing down the street right outside their window. Jaime joins her outside and the doors to Pod and Bronn’s rooms open.

They exchange looks as Arya says carefully, “It’s on the news now.”

 

The four of them sit through three repeated cycles of the news. Arya sits, unable to truly grasp the magnitude of their actions. It’s fucking bizarre.

The local and state police are there, along with the FBI, the ATF, and the Department of Homeland Security.

But what she really focuses on is the brief statements made by Joffrey Baratheon. What a smug cocksucker, she thinks. You’ll be dead soon-not that it will bring back those six lives-seven if you counted Sansa’s baby-but it will do.

They’re all sort of quiet and on edge as the hours pass, the television on constantly, when Bronn announces he’s hungry. Pod offers to get food and Arya volunteers to go along, simply for something to do.

When she grabs her purse, Jaime gets up and kisses her soundly and gives her a look that melts her insides.

“I love you.” He says it seriously and with great emphasis, and Arya realizes that if, for some reason they’re caught she’ll hear it from him one more time.

“I fucking love you so much.” Arya says with equal gravity. Because she does. Oh, she really fucking does.

 

Her and Pod try to make conversation as they drive to some fast food place they don’t have in King’s Landing, but they’re both too busy looking over their shoulders to really say anything.

* * *

 

**_5 hours, 29 minutes_ **

 

Jaime unbuttons his shirt and takes it off, leaving his undershirt on and he goes to flop down on the bed next to Arya, who’s splayed out on top of the covers, staring at the ceiling. She turns and winds her way around him.

He smiles to himself because every time she’s near him, she drapes herself around him-that’s true for the both of them, he supposes, because he molds himself unconsciously around her. They are lock and key, the two of them-perfect for one another.

Jaime sighs and thinks about his nephew and his sister, and how he doesn’t feel a shred of guilt. He almost laughs at the thought of Cersei’s reaction when the insurance money is to go to Margaery and not her.

He feels Arya burrowing into the crook of his neck, and her breath tickles and it makes his cock stir and he pulls her closer. Jaime’s hold tightens as she peppers hot, sharp little kisses along his jaw. A low moan escapes him when her hand slides down his waistband and he tries to pull her so she’s on top of him, but she won’t and it’s driving him crazy.

 _She_ drives him crazy, and he is a lucky, lucky man.

His hand finds its way to her breast and she gasps when he pinches her nipple through her shirt and bra as he growls, “Give me your mouth, you little minx.”

She does.

* * *

 

**_2 hours, 13 minutes_ **

 

The news is nothing new aside from some speculation that it could be an extremist religious group or a rogue political alliance.

And another plea from Joffrey asking whoever it is to come forward.

* * *

 

**_12 minutes_ **

 

It’s Arya who makes the call. Before she does she takes a healthy swig of whatever Bronn had brought, and now they stand in silence watching her scrunch her face up and take a breath.

She dials.

Jaime hears her low, steady voice. She speaks in a tone he’s never heard out of her mouth and it’s so intriguing he nearly stops listening to the actual words. Her face is a blank, eyes steadfast in front of her.

“…I’ve always admired you, which is why I’m giving you the chance to end this.” She listens briefly and continues. “It doesn’t matter who I am. Do as I ask, and I’ll save your precious Golden Lion. If you don’t, I’ll destroy it, and everything around it.”

Arya blinks, and Jaime can hear the Joffrey’s voice through the phone.

“You’re to go to the fourth floor-alone-and when you’re there, I’ll tell you where to drop the money and how to disarm it. Lie to me, and I’ll kill you. Bring anyone else with you, and I’ll kill you. I’ll know, Joffrey.”

Jaime, Bronn, and Podrick are completely still, almost not breathing.

“I’ll give you two minutes to enter the building.”

Jaime looks down at his watch and it’s the longest two minutes of their lives.

“…I don’t care. It’s the only time I’m giving you. Once inside take the stairs.”

Arya’s eyes flick to Jaime, indicating she believes he’s doing what she tells him. “Call me all the names you like-I just want my money.”

“Are you there? Good.” She takes slow steps to the door and opens it quietly, stepping out onto the landing, throwing Jaime a glance over her shoulder. They all follow and Jaime pulls the phone out of his pocket.

She stares at Jaime as the next words come out of her mouth.

“This is for Mycah and those children and my sister. I want you to know that Arya Stark and Jaime Lannister will be the ones who end you.”

She snaps the phone in half as Jaime taps out the number to the cell phone in the device and pushes ‘send.’

They turn and for a second, nothing happens until-

It’s the loudest sound any of them have ever heard.

* * *

 

Four people stand on a second floor landing of a cheap motel in Atlantic City. A thirty-seven year old war hero, a sixteen year old high school student, a forty year old criminal, and a twenty year old security guard.

The war hero embraces the high school student from behind. The criminal lights a cigarette, and the security guard grips the railing and leans forward.

Together they watch the bright green flames engulf The Golden Lion and Joffrey Baratheon.

* * *

 

 It’s chaos in King’s Landing. Tyrion demands to know where Jaime’s been and why he hasn’t answered his phone and Jaime just tells him it’s dead, and he just cannot seem to find it anywhere, and why? He’s been busy with Arya since her parents are out of town, and no, he hasn’t seen the news.

Cersei is in shambles, devastated over the loss of her first born, and Jaime tries to be there for her once she returns to the city, but she sees conspiracies and enemies around every corner, while the real culprit is in front of her.

* * *

 

Sansa demands to know why Arya hasn’t answered her phone and Arya shrugs and said it’s broken-though she doesn’t tell her sister that she had purposely dropped it from the second floor library balcony on purpose.

Sansa then tells her that someone bombed the casino Joffrey had built and it’s near certain he was inside when it happened. Arya looks at her sister and gives her a faint smile before telling what a shame that was.

* * *

 

The FBI show up to Jaime’s apartment and ask relatively benign questions, seemingly uninterested in his answers. When Jaime asks if there are any suspects, they tell him it was most likely an anti-capitalist political group, as they’ve done something similar in the past.

Cersei loses the house to Stannis Baratheon, as Stannis wanted the old ancestral home back, and Cersei, now bankrupt, has no other choice but to move in with their Aunt Genna. Tyrion and Jaime start a trust fund for Myrcella and Tommen, not to be touched until they’re twenty-one.

Cersei is apparently so out of touch, she never mentions Arya or the Starks again.

* * *

* * *

 

**_12 months, 14 days, 16 hours, and 40 minutes after_ **

Two days after Arya’s eighteenth birthday she announces at dinner that Jaime Lannister asked her out on a date, and she accepted.

After the initial quiet shock from everyone at the table, she’s bombarded with questions from everyone but Jon, Sansa, and her father who stares at her with a baffled look.

Once she gets a word in edgewise, it’s only to say that she’s an adult and can date whoever she wants.

 

**_18 months, 2 days, 8 hours, and 17 minutes after_ **

Jaime buys the matching bands to the ring she already has, and together with Sansa and Tyrion as witnesses, Arya Stark becomes Arya Lannister in the same courthouse that held Joffrey’s trial.

Deciding to get it out of the way, they go to Arya’s parents to tell them she’s going to be moving out since she should probably live with her husband from now on.

Their mother yanks Sansa and Arya into the kitchen. Sansa gets reprimanded for not trying to stop Arya and Arya for, among other things, her being too young, him being too old, wasted potential, and ruining her life.

Arya was ready for this reaction, so she just calmly says that she loves Jaime and he makes her happy.

Her mother pulls her into a tight hug while muttering curses under her breath and for the first time in a long time, Arya hugs her mother back.

Jaime, however, is not only expecting the punch thrown by Ned Stark, he’s prepared for it. Really, he’s the first one to admit he probably deserves it.

 

**_20 months, 22 days, 15 hours, 56 minutes after_ **

They sit in the sand on Plaka Beach in Naxos, Greece after Jaime insists they go somewhere together. It took forever to figure out where to go and only decided on Greece because Arya says she likes Greek food.

“When do you want to go home?” Arya asks laying down. Neither has any obligations and are free to do as they please. “We’ve been sitting on the beach for two weeks.”

He lays next to her. “We’re supposed to be relaxing and enjoying ourselves.” Jaime rolls on his side to face her. “And I quite enjoy seeing my little wife in skimpy swimwear.”

“Really?” She says smiling up at him. She takes his sunglasses off and pulls until he’s half way on top of her. “I enjoy seeing my husband come out of the water, shirtless and dripping. It makes me want to do very bad things to you.”

Jaime raises an eyebrow. “Is that right? Maybe you should.” His fingers drag up to her shoulder and he pulls the string of her bikini top.

“Maybe I will.”

“Promise?”

“Oh, I promise. And a Lannister always pays their debts.”

“Well said, _Mrs. Lannister_.” He says kissing her. He’s about to rid her of the swimwear he likes on her so much when his phone rings in her bag. Jaime whines and drops his head on her chest, the rest of his body going limp.

Arya laughs at him and reaches to fish through the bag one handed. Once the phone is in her hand, she nudges his shoulder with it.

“No,” Jaime whines again.

“Jaime,” she says, nudging him harder. He sighs and takes it, answering it while still laying on her.

“Yes?” He says irritated. He listens for a second before sitting up and putting his glasses back on. Arya does the same and reties her top and lights a cigarette, staring at the perfectly blue ocean.

“That was a one time thing, Bronn.” She hears Jaime say. Arya is still in contact with Pod, but she doesn’t know where Bronn has been.

“…I’d have to talk to Arya,” Jaime says. “What? No…what do you mean _ask her permission_?”

There’s a little tug on her neck, and Arya’s top falls loose. Her mouth drops open and she gives a little gasp. Covering herself with one hand she smacks him on the arm with the other.

“Right, well…I’ll get back to you.”

“What was that about,” she asks while retying her bikini top _again._

“Bronn has met a Singaporean billionaire. This billionaire has a great desire for some pieces of art in a gallery in New York City, and is willing to pay rather generously for anyone willing to obtain them.” Jaime says.

“Oh. So Bronn’s going to steal some art?” Arya has a skeptical look on her face, unsure as to why Bronn told Jaime.

“Podrick too. And us, if we want in. Apparently they could use our help.”

“ _Us_?” Arya exclaims. “Why us? We’re not criminal masterminds, or anything.”

“No, but we worked together well in Atlantic City. He’s…willing to split the money four ways.”

Arya turns to the water and chews her lip, thinking.

“It’s not like we _need_ the money.” Jaime reasons.

“No,” Arya agrees. “But…it’s always good have more, isn’t it?”

He chuckles. “Spoken like a true Lannister.”

Arya studies him for a moment. “We could…just go to New York and check it out,” she shrugs. “We don’t have to say yes, or anything.”

Tilting his head back and forth, he says, “We could do that. Just get the details-out of curiosity.”

“Do you want to?”

“Do _you_?”

Arya slowly grins. “Yeah.”

Jaime grins back and stands up, bringing his towel with him as Arya does the same.

“I’ll let Bronn know that me and my beautiful wife are on our way to New York.” Jaime says, smacking her on the ass.

“ _Jaime_ ,” she scolds while smiling.

Jaime laughs and takes her hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again. I hope it ended well. If you're interested, I've posted a one-shot Jaime/Arya too.
> 
> Cheers!


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